Prince of Liars
by Corvid Angel
Summary: Let's mess with Javert's head, shall we? Like that's a new idea around here! Our favorite Inspector suddenly finds himself on the wrong side of the dock, with an unlkely defense. Some eventual slash. A tale I hope to play with... REVIEWS APPRECIATED--
1. Chapter 1

Prince of Liars

It was a dream brought on by fever and delirium, or so his orderly mind believed.

Javert stood at the open door, at the foot of worn stone steps. Before him stretched the long brick passage, its walls wet and glistening in the light that filtered in at the far end. Between him and this exit, a figure lumbered away slowly.

"Halt!"

The silhouette obeyed his command, and slowly turned. It was a creature of massive size, almost filling the passage, black against the light beyond. With heavy breath, vapor clouds curled in a wreath around its head, where two pinpoints of red shone in place of eyes. There was a gun in Javerts hand, and he steadied his aim in the figures direction. Had he been hunting this, following it here? A deep rasping voice broke the silence.

"You should not stop me, Inspector."

"Who are you?"

"Do not ask. If you were to know, you would be lost."

The hammer of the pistol clicked, pulled to full-cock. Javert intended to fire if his demands were not met.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

"I caution you, Javert. The knowledge will be your undoing."

"Answer me!"

"So be it. I am your devil, and for that information, you have sold yourself to me."

The creature began its lumbering gait back along the passage in Javerts direction.

"Halt, or I shall fire."

There was no hint of fear in his voice or anxious tremor of hand. The Inspector knew what he had to do, and when the beast did not stop, he fired.

The report ripped through the close passage with a crack and a roar. The creature did not react, continuing its progress undaunted. The pace remained deliberate and Javert stepped back instinctively. The door suddenly closed at his back, and he was claimed by the darkness.

The law, as men profess and follow, does not exist in the realm of dream. There are no rules, no civilization, no appeals nor courts to hear them. For a man who did not believe in heaven or hell beyond that which one creates for himself, such a notion was as impossible as it was unthinkable.

"The prisoner will stand."

Javert heard the words before he could open his eyes. He was bent with a strange weight engulfing him. When he blinked and focused his vision, he saw nothing but the broad planks of flooring at his feet. Murmurs swarmed like hornets at his ears and he felt himself seized by the arms, forced to rise. What was this?

He lifted his head and saw around him a vast courtroom, the galleries filled with angry faces. By his side, two officials of the court-- guards-- who released their hold once he was on his feet. He was in the dock, facing a tribunal of grim faced judges, the ranking member banging his gavel for order.

"What is this place? Who are you?" the Inspector demanded. How was it he had come here, as a prisoner? He shook his head, trying to dismiss the sight from his mind. This was impossible.

"The prisoner will not speak unless directed to do so." The magistrate barked roughly.

"Prisoner? This is absurd! I am Inspector Javert, of the--"

"The court is well aware of the prisoners identity."

More grumblings from the attendants followed, and the gavel hammered for order and peace once more. He will keep silent or the court will have him gagged.

Javert looked sharply to his left and right. The guards, judges and officers of the court were all strangers to him. He found that weight that pressed on him were chains and manacles on hands and feet, but all confusion was quickly replaced by rage.

"I demand to be heard! I am not a criminal-- how dare you restrain me-- release me at once!"

A single sharp nod from the magistrate was all the direction needed. One of the guards slipped a leather strap over the prisoners head, pulling it tight into place over his mouth. Javert was further enraged to be censored like a common felon. He tossed his head violently as if to shake off his restraint, but a firm grip on the strap by his guard brought an end to this vain struggle.

"Inspector Javert, you have been brought before this court to answer for your innumerable crimes against the people and Republic of France, your continued violence against and disservice to your fellow man and defiance in the face of Divine Law."

Disservice? Divine Law?? What was this person raving about? Javerts sense of order and logic had already been violated by the physical restrictions forced upon him-- and now this insane babble of some imagined crimes and supposed wrongs against-- God and man? It was beyond absurd! Were they all mad?

A second member of the panel facing him took up a page of foolscap and stood.

"Having read the charges, the court would now like to present witness in support of these findings." Javert pulled against the grip of his guards, but their combined efforts were redoubled, and he was held immobile to observe proceedings in mute horror. Who accused him?? Who dared stand up to denounce the Law??

In quick succession, figures seated in the gallery began to stand. Those already standing moved to the front, lining the railings two and three deep. These men and women, in ragged clothing, genteel dress or prison issued smocks and caps, glared with cold dead eyes at the man in the dock. Javert knew a few by name, and recognized others by sight-- but they seemed mostly strangers to him. They were varied in age, health, and class, but the hatred in their eyes was all the same.

These people were law-breakers-- criminals who had come before the bar and received their punishment under the law through the Inspectors own dedicated efforts. Felons, cheats, whores and murderers--- How dare they stand in judgment against him! The magistrate leveled his eyes on the prisoner, a sardonic grin altering his stern features.

"It would seem, by the expression on your face, that these people are all known to you?"

Javert huffed angrily, snorting like a bull, seething behind the leather strap. He could not answer, and had he been permitted to speak, he would have denounced this official, his court, and the ridiculous charges against him. The robed man who was still standing turned his gaze to the chief judge.

"Perhaps, if the prisoner will confine himself to answering the questions put to him, we may permit him to speak?"

The official nodded and turned a harsh glare to the man in the dock.

"Do we have your word, monsieur, that you will keep your tongue in check?"

"Let him speak." a voice behind the dock insisted. For a moment Javert thought he recognized it, but was unable by his circumstance to turn and look. The judge was not convinced.

"I caution the prisoner, no disrespect will be tolerated. This court has been convened for the good of the people. Any attempt you make to subvert the inquiries or proceedings will be dealt with harshly. You may loosen the strap."

No sooner had the leather slipped below his chin, than Javert began an angry fusillade of words.

"I demand to heard! You have no right to restrain me here, or bring me before this supposed tribunal! You have no authority over me, whoever you are-- I am an official of the law-- your charges are without merit and I will not be subjected to this farce of---"

A single glance from the irate magistrate brought a guards cudgel hard across Javerts midsection. The prisoner doubled over, the breath and fury brutally knocked from him. The leather strap was twisted around his neck now, and he was yanked upright again by this, in the tight grip of a guard.

"I will remind the prisoner that he is here solely at the pleasure of the court, that his crimes are a matter of public record, and not open to argument. It is within the right and privilege of this court to use whatever means it pleases and at its disposal to maintain order and keep the peace. If you require a beating to keep a civilized and respectful tongue in your head, then by God, monsieur, you shall have it. I should hope this is now sufficiently clear."

Javert could barely breath, the strap, in the cruel hand of his guard, was an effective noose. The pain of the blow was disabling enough, and unable to defend himself by words or actions, the prisoner was now docile and subdued. The standing judge cleared his throat and commenced.

"Bearing witness against you, Inspector Javert, we have here assembled over 300 souls who were directly effected by your dogged addiction to that which you called your duty."

"Criminals." Javert croaked hoarsely. "Brought to justice."

The judge continued.

"You will please take note of the additional 947 who also fell victim to your blind cruelties."

Dazed by pain and anger, Javerts eyes once again swept the enormous hall. Behind each felon and convict stood other figures, none of whom struck the slightest cord in his memory. The judge looked to his superior briefly.

"I trust we can dispense with reading a list of the names, for the sake of brevity." The magistrate nodded, and the judge addressed Javert directly. "I have no doubt you do not know, nor otherwise recognize this additional number. They are here also to bear witness against you. These are the husbands and wives, parents, families and kin whose lives were destroyed by your immovable principles. You see before you those who perished for want of food and care when their only sources of support and income were taken away, through your dedicated efforts to the unfeeling letter of the law. These are the families that were torn apart, children sent to workhouses, spouses driven to despair, the suicides, the sickness--- It was your hand, Inspector Javert, that wrought these judgments-- and I assure you, sir, this is but a sampling of the horror brought about through your efforts."

"It was not my doing." Javert struggled to pronounce the words. "I am not the villain. I am an agent of the law-- it was the unlawful acts, and those guilty of committing them, responsible." He grimaced against his restraints as much against his disgust at having to defend himself. If this was a proper court of law, they would know and understand this--- he would never have been brought to answer for these things. These misfortunes were none of his concern-- and it further angered him that he had to plea a case at all. The voices rose again, murmurs and audible denouncements, demanding retribution. Again, the gavels call silenced them.

"Can it be you fail to understand?" the chief judge spoke again. "Your administration of what you call justice and service to the law-- it cannot exist in and of itself. The laws of man cannot take precedence over the laws of God."

Javert clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the magistrate.

"There is no God. he hissed."

A general disruption followed-- gasps and shrieks, mumbled curses and angry shouts for revenge that took more than the gavels insistence to quell. How could such a vile Godless creature been given absolute power over their fate? Enough of them had long lost their own faith before crossing the Inspectors path-- but here in this court of presumed equality, even those pleas were heard. There had been no mercy shown by this man-- why should any be offered in return?

When at last the wave of angry voices was stilled, the magistrate turned cruel eyes to the accused.

"Inspector Javert, you have by your own words condemned yourself. This court has no choice but to administer the full penalty within its power to serve. Therefore, I hereby pronounce sentence--"

"With the courts kind permission--" again, that familiar voice from behind the dock. Someone rose, and Javert struggled to turn his head, to see the man's face. The guards yanked him back to attention, one gripping a handful of the prisoners hair to keep him from moving. The magistrate nodded to the speaker, and the man continued. "I should like to offer testimony on the prisoners defense."

The crowd grumbled briefly, but was soon brought to order. The speaker who would take on so hopeless a case stepped forward, now standing now beside the dock.

"You are rather well acquainted with the prisoner, as well as his crimes against you, and all the others." the chief judge spoke. "Still, it is within your right to act on his behalf."

Javert could not move his head, but from the corner of his eye could at last identify this mysterious benefactor.

It was the convict, Jean Valjean.


	2. Chapter 2

Prince of Liars 2

Javert refused to believe any part of it.

There was no rational explanation for the tribunal, and that he should ever be held prisoner--- no reason that he should stand accused like some common thug for performing his duty, as if devotion to the law itself was somehow a crime. How could all those who had been arrested, tried and sentenced -- and in some cases executed-- now be present to bear witness against him? The situation was impossible-- and untenable. And now this farce would be made more ludicrous by the presence of Valjean, and his offer of representation.

He shook his head as much as permitted in the grip of his assailant-guards, denouncing in this feeble action everything to which he was subjected. The judge who had been standing as prosecution took his seat again and gestured for the defense to proceed.

"Most of you know of me." Valjean began his opening statement. "I have been for the last 20 years a primary target of Inspector Javert's attentions. That I had become a reformed man, and succeeded in part to living my life so it might be of benefit to others, these were not considerations accepted by the Inspector's law."

"You are a convict-- you broke parole." the prisoner hissed. "It was my responsibility-- and sworn duty-- to see you returned to prison."

Valjean did not spare a glance in the Inspectors direction, addressing the courtroom in general, and the judges in particular.

"I was sentenced to five years for the crime of stealing bread. Food so that my sister and her family would not starve. I served that time, and years more, lost my sister and her children to disease and despair. The price paid for youthful indiscretion far outweighed the offense."

"It was not the law that condemned you." Javert argued. "Your own actions--"

"I do not debate the authority of the law." Valjean quickly concluded. "I am not here to point out the flaws and failings of man-made rules, but rather to bring that to mind, concerning the subject of guilt of the man now brought forward to judgment."

"What judgment?? I am guilty only of performing my duty-- "A guards sharp tug on the leather strap now around Javert's throat cut his words short.

"A noble argument, certainly---" the magistrate interrupted. "But that you of all people should stand to defend this creature is rather exceptional. It speaks highly of your integrity, monsieur, and the transformation brought about by your reform."

"I thank you, your honor, but such demonstration is not my purpose here."

"Of course. Pray, continue."

"I would like it a matter of record for the court, if it is not otherwise already noted---" Here Valjean turned his gaze to Javert. "That there was indeed a time when I had vowed to kill this man myself."

The prisoner almost laughed at so stunning a display to support the fallacy of reform. Saint Valjean admitting to a thirst for revenge and murder. Where was the virtue now? The speaker studied the man in the dock, a mixture of pity and admiration in his eyes-- a look which Javert found more unsettling than hatred would have been.

"Yes, I freely admit to the fact that this person had made my life worse than a living hell-- not merely while in prison, but for all the years since. It was as 24601 I learned to hate him, and nurtured thoughts of revenge. I spent my nights conceiving ways to do him the greatest harm, devising tortures, and long lingering means to bring about his demise."

"Oh, bravo, Valjean." the prisoner croaked hoarsely in amusement. "That is the more the creature I remember, the true beast you are."

The magistrate, completely ignoring the mumblings of the accused, held up a finger for attention before proceeding.

"But you no longer bear him such animosity?"

"No, sir. Quite the contrary." The speaker focused his gaze once more on the judge's table. "While it is true, in prison I became more of an animal than a man, I believe the court may agree that imprisonment does in fact bring about such change." He raised his eyes to the gallery. "And I am certain most of the witnesses gathered here today would attest to that same fact. Just as desperation can cause a rational, God-fearing man to commit the very deeds that brought about incarceration and punishment. Prompted by my hopeless situation as an inmate of Toulon, I found no other means of survival than to harbor thoughts of revenge. It was the smell of fresh clean air as a free man that cleared my head. And the kind, forgiving words of a man of God that then cleared my heart. I vowed to put away all thoughts of evil, thoughts of prison and Javert, and become a new creature with the grace of God."

"Sentimental tripe." the prisoner scoffed. "You are a convict, Valjean. No visions of the divine can ransom you!"

"So I stand before you today, perhaps with as much reason as anyone to revile Javert. Had I not changed, I would likely hold as much desire as any among you, to see him suffer and pay for what we believe was done by his hand." He bowed his head solemnly. "I hold that we are not capable of wisdom, forgiveness, or love without the guidance of a Greater Power. It is in the cause of that Greater Power I stand before you, a witness of that Supreme Law."

"Spare your breath." Javert warned him. "You cling to myth and poetic fancy! There is no law but THE LAW-- your arguments are as false as this supposed court---" The collar was jerked tighter, cutting off his breath.

"Am I to understand---" the magistrate intervened. "That you no longer bear the prisoner any ill-will at all?"

"I have my regrets." Valjean nodded humbly. "That I might have served the people of Monteis-sur-Monteis with greater dedication for longer than allowed. That the woman Fantine could not have been spared to see her daughter grown to a woman, and that I was forced to live in hiding and fear for a past which Javert could not forget or forgive. By circumstance I was forced to avoid prison and the dictates of the law-- the law as Javert saw it-- through means regarded criminal. But in every case it was for the cause of some greater good I had vowed to see done."

One of the judges was shuffling through a sheaf of papers, and having found one page of particular note, handed it to the chief among them. The magistrate quickly studied it and when satisfied, addressed Valjean.

"You raised the child of the woman Fantine?"

"I had promised to do so."

"A child you had never seen and had no familial connection to? Provided her with food, clothing, shelter, dedicated all your time and care in order to fulfill this promise?"

"Idiots." Javert spat and struggled to speak. "Manipulated by sentiment! You are no more qualified to sit in judgment of me--- than this convict is to---" He wheezed and coughed, forced again between the choice of speaking his mind and simply breathing.

"The court does not dispute such laudable accomplishments, monsieur." The magistrate set the page aside. "Commendable, charitable giving of yourself for the life and sake of another. No doubt your records speak of other such high-minded and merciful deeds-- but what then of the prisoner? Would you wish us to believe his life is likewise filled with similar acts of selflessness?"

There was a grumbling among the crowd, with a hint of dark humor at the idea that Inspector Javert had any such acts of kindness to his credit. The murmur rose and died on its own before it was necessary for the judge to intercede. A gentle smirk crossed Valjeans face, and he looked down shyly until it passed.

"I cannot account for anything more than setting down saucers of milk and a few herring for stray cats."

There was some slight laughter from the crowd, which quickly died out. Javert wrinkled his brow in confusion-- how could the convict know anything at all about him?

"I understand this court has been convened for the sake of deciding upon a suitable sentence to afford the prisoner Javert. His guilt, as you have demonstrated, has been sufficiently proven."

"This is not a court of law." the man in the dock rasped. "I do not recognize that you have any authority over me!" In Javert's estimation, everyone a party to this monstrous farce should be arrested --- how was it possible such a travesty had been arranged in the first place? The chief judge again addressed Valjean.

"While you might understand that, monsieur, you prefer now to divert our attentions, to what purpose?"

"For the purpose of mercy, your honor. None of us can undo the injustices suffered and experienced by these witnesses and countless others who may not be present. But we can take care with our own decisions, our own justice, that it does not return evil for evil-- if indeed this man is guilty of the deliberate perpetration of evil."

Above, in the gallery, an angry voice rang out.

"If?? What do you mean-- IF?"

This declaration was followed by several others, the air ripe with curses, threats, and recitations of offenses. Javert paid no heed to the rabble, the call for his blood or the names of the supposed victims; instead he stared at Valjean in disbelief. The convict was the last person on earth who should act on his behalf, for Javert had indeed been the tireless hunter, efficient and ruthless, in his pursuit of justice. Had they both suffered for the same reason-- though the Inspector would not recognize suffering as a suitable term.

The idea came suddenly to Javert that perhaps he himself had been a prisoner for the last 20 years.

When the tempest passed, Valjean had stepped to the middle of the floor. His back was to the dock and he now confined his attention to the panel of judges. They in turn observed him with a critical eye, though not entirely devoid of understanding.

"Members of the court, honored judges, witnesses, friends, I thank you for the opportunity to speak, in the prisoner's defense."

"I dont want your--"

"Silence the prisoner." the magistrate snapped. He had tolerated the outbursts long enough.

Another blow with a truncheon silenced Javert, and a hard jab to the ribs sent him to the floor. Valjean closed his eyes and winced at the sounds behind him. There was nothing else to do but press on. He drew a sharp breath and held his head high.

"Looking around the room, searching the galleries. I am impressed at what I see. Hundreds of people, representing every walk of life, and fitting every description, as varied a collection as could ever be assembled. If you havent already done so, I would encourage each of you to examine the crowd for yourself. People you have never before met or even seen, and like as not will never meet again. Complete strangers, but for one thing. One." He held up a finger to punctuate his statement. "We have all, directly or indirectly, encountered Inspector Javert."

The accused lay curled on his side, choking on every breath and trying in vain to stave off the pain. Dragging his chains, Javert moved hands to his throat, working slender fingers beneath the leather strap to loosen its stifling grip. His ribs ached and his midsection-- struck twice-- convulsed in spasms of pain. For all his health and hardiness, the prisoner was not accustomed to being restrained and abused at the hands of others. Had he been free to defend himself against his assailants, he may well have stood the victor. Despite the brutality afforded him, Javert would not submit. His outrage grew, and would be the force to sustain him.

"I speak today for the sake of love and forgiveness." Valjean continued. "Those sacred mercies shown us by the King of Kings, to whose divine judgment we are all subject."

"Love? Forgiveness and mercy?" someone in the crowd cried out. "The prisoner recognizes none of this!"

"Nor deserves it!" another countered.

He defies the sovereignty of the Supreme Being-- a third angry voice exclaimed.

"All this is a matter of record!" the magistrate declared with a strike of his gavel. T"he very reason we find him here today! And if the public cannot restrain themselves, I will have the galleries cleared!" This threat served to quell further debate. The defense continued.

"Is it not the divine quality of mercy that guarantees even the most base among us the love of God, and purchase of our immortal souls, well paid by the blood of Christ?"

"Stop this!" Javert had loosened his leather bond enough to shout in anger. "Damn you, Valjean! I recognize no such simple-minded claim! You will desist, do you hear me?" The prisoner's silence was once again assured by a kick to already bruised ribs.

The convict Valjean looked back with grave concern to the groaning man on the floor. He was inspired to pursue his argument with more fervor, before the prisoner could be beaten to death at the hands of the court.

"My honored sirs!" Again he focused on the judges. "Though the prisoner has already disclaimed the Divine many times, long before this court came to order, it does not exclude him from the mercy thereof! I put it to you, good sirs, that Javert has himself held to one God, one faith, throughout his life. That God-- that Supreme Power-- is the Law. Yes, it is the imperfect Law of Man, but to him a God nonetheless. And his faith in it, its power and its service has been, until now, perhaps his sole reason to exist."

"The error was his own." the magistrate quipped. "That he has been fool enough to put his faith and trust in the works of man-- be they intended for good or otherwise-- was and is a personal failing. Even now, facing the truth, and forced to see the error of his belief, he is unrepentant-- unredeemable."

"Is any man so far bent by sin, misinformation, weakness or ignorance truly unredeemable? I put it to you, sirs, that in the eyes of a loving God, no one is beyond hope."

Javert groaned. The injuries done his physical body now outweighed the insult that this charade had laid upon his logic. He could not rise, and struggled to breath, as every intake of air tore at his chest. He closed his eyes and fought to wake himself from this nightmare.

"Very well, Valjean, you have initiated rather a valid argument." the magistrate nodded. "However, I feel under the circumstances, we will order adjournment. The prisoner will be removed to his cell until such time as he is able to better comprehend the proceedings. You may continue your defense at that time. Court stands adjourned."

Jean Valjean nodded acceptance of the decision, and turned concerned eyes back to Inspector Javert. Unable, or unwilling, to rise to his feet, the prisoner was seized by his leg irons, and dragged by his guards through an arched doorway. The crowd in the galleries murmured their complaints or satisfaction as they began to file out. Still surrounded by the sounds and evidence of his fellow man, Valjean stood silently in the middle of the court, feeling more alone than ever in his life before.


	3. Chapter 3

Prince of Liars 3

"There are those who believe that the physical world in which mankind is destined to live is not in fact the only one. Schools of thought maintain there are other realms, other planes of existence beyond that which is merely seen, heard and felt by mortal senses. The church declares a better world beyond death, and philosophers attest that in our dreams we have glimpsed dominions and civilizations as real as our own. There are no known records, of course, no scientific proof to verify such ideations, despite how well versed supporters may be, in defense of their theories."

Dr. Xavier Pryce

It need only be noted that a man of Inspector Javerts intellect, experience, and long held beliefs would tolerate no such argument. Reality, like the law, was firm, immovable, and sound. That he found himself for a time trapped in a world completely at odds with reason was a contention for which he was ill prepared.

He shivered. and slowly awoke from his faint, as the cold and the pain urged. He remembered bits and pieces-- angry voices, sharp blows-- being dragged like sack of grain, and later carried down a flight of stairs by rough, clumsy hands. He was released from his shackles long enough for his uniform to be stripped from him. When he rallied enough to fight against this outrage, a club to the back of the head laid him low.

In shirt and breeches he was hung by his arms from chains in the middle of a dark, foul smelling cell. As final insult, a bucket of ice water was doused over him, in the unlikely hope it would help shock him to awareness. It served its purpose but briefly, allowing him but a glimpse of the departing guards. He soon lapsed into a black stifling sleep which the cold gradually help dissuade.

He was aware. His wrists ached from the pressure of his full weight dragging on them-- for how long? Legs, numb with the chill and inactivity, struggled to move. Bare feet found the cold stones and braced themselves in support. It gave his arms some respite, though they were already weak and weary from the ordeal. His hair and remaining clothes, still thoroughly soaked, clung to his tortured frame, causing him to shiver again.

Had his ribs been cracked and broken? Every breath that caused those staves to swell brought a new stab of pain, and he resorted to panting in short and ragged bursts to keep the discomfort to a minimum.

How had this happened? What madness had brought him to such a place? Did these people not fear the law--- the justice they would evenually face? Even now, he maintained that he had done no wrong, and it was by some gross miscarriage that he was forced to endure these indignities. Some satisfaction came from knowing he would certainly emerge vindicated in the end.

Javert realized after a few moments that he was not alone. Raising his head, he saw a figure before him, several paces off-- blacker even than the darkness of the cell. The creature was large, breathing slow and heavy breaths that carried a strangely acrid and familiar scent. It was the red reflection of eyes that stirred his memory further.

"What is this?"

"Just a visit." A deep voice answered in a near whisper. "To see how my pet is getting on."

"I am no man's pet." Though his own words were hoarse and mumbled, Javert found enough anger to give them force. "Who are you-- what do.. you want?"

A slight laugh, and a curious spark flickered in those horrid eyes.

"I wanted nothing from the start. It was your insistence that got you into your present situation, so I do hope you are enjoying it."

"What manner of man are you?"

"No manner of man that you would recognize. Ive told you before, Javert. I am your devil."

"There is no such thing."

"Oh yes, Ive forgotten. No God, therefore no devil. But you confuse me with a less personal deity. I am wholly your creation."

"No." the prisoner growled.

"And thanks to your own foolishness, you are now wholly mine. Though I must say, your suffering thus far has not been as satisfying as I had hoped."

"If you have.. no intention of .releasing me---"

"Are really that much of a fool? I wouldnt dream of it. Seems all youre lacking for martyrdom is the red robe and crown of thorns. And a just cause."

"I demand.. that you free me."

"You waste your breath. No one can free you. You'll stay trussed up like a side of beef until youre on the menu."

Javert shook his head and snarled with anger.

"Get out, damn you!! Get out!" The effort of shouting caused a sudden stab in his side, and Javert clenched his eyes closed until it passed. When he looked again, there was no shadow, no man nor devil confronting him. He was alone.

The episode was quickly excused as illusion. The prisoner still possessed enough control of mind to work reason around at least this curosity. He had been under great stress, in unfamiliar and hostile surroundings, had suffered a beating and the humiliation of shackles and imprisonment. It did indeed distort perception of reality, until he saw phantoms. Delirium brought about by the aforementioned factors could explain the appearance of such a shadow-- but it did nothing to explain the factors themselves.

How long had he been there? And how long would he stay? He refused to call out for help or even for a guard who might answer questions-- he was simply not the sort of man to display anything he would regard as weakness. He wracked his brain for some reason, any clue, any sense to the situation, but found none. There was nothing that could in any way justify what was happening. Still, he held tenaciously to the notion that the Law had not deserted him; that he was blameless in its service and therefore, as ever, in the right. Such self-righteous belief, even with the support of natural arrogance, could not however drive off the cold, or ease the pain.

A curious new sensation came to him, slowly-- like a black cloud lurking on the horizon of his thoughts. Something beyond the wet and cold embracing him, or the insanity of the courtroom-- even beyond the injuries to his pride and person. An emotion at once foreign and familiar to him, at least for having seen it in others. Was this in fact despair?

"Not possible." he argued with himself. The notion was absurd, and yet he felt himself sinking into a strange place that all the powers of the law could not reach. It was as if he was chained to a rock, in the midst a stormy sea; held fast without food, shelter or that which men called hope. How had he come to that rock? Ridiculous to imagine he might have in fact reached it of his own volition, and had slipped the manacles on himself before tossing the key into the waves. Impossible to imagine he had made this choice and endured the journey over the course of many bitter years.

He had always been alone, though never lonely. He was apart from other men, and desired none of their comforts and frailties. He needed neither wife nor family, home or wealth. His mistress, companion and treasure had always been, and would always be the law and his sacred duty to uphold it. The world could be an evil place, infested with all manner of crime and corruption-- it was up to him to stand against it, alone if necessary, and prevent the disease from ravaging the whole.

How, then, could he be overtaken by despair? Was it even remotely possible that he had some how gone wrong?

"I will see him!"

Not far off, in a corridor beyond the bars of his pitiful accommodations, a voice was insistent. Valjeans voice. There was some clattering of keys, and a passage door unlocked. Hurried footsteps now, stopping just outside his barred gate. Javerts black eyes peered weakly out from sodden locks of hair. Jean Valjean, in the company of a guard, stood staring through the iron bars with a look of horror on his face.

"Open at once." the convict demanded. When the guard hesitated, he was further admonished. "I am this man's legal representative, with all rights to be here. You will let me in!"

The man in uniform fumbled with his ring of keys, and Javert found some strange satisfaction at seeing the convict at his door. Was he perhaps still trying to curry favor? Did he not know the law could not be bought? The prisoner dropped his head in exhaustion and would not meet the convict's eyes. When the way was open, the guard was abruptly dismissed.

Valjean entered and quickly closed the space between himself and Inspector Javert. He stood within inches of the man he had so ably avoided for 20 years.

"Javert-- can you hear me?"

"Yes, Valjean. I am not deaf. They haven't taken that from me yet." There was nothing warm, nothing human in his voice. This lack of gratitude was no less than Jean had expected. When Javert raised his head again, it was more a matter of bland curiosity. The look of pity in the convicts eyes was almost unbearable; the Inspector was uncomfortable with inspiring anything other than fear or respect.

"My God." Valjean whispered. "What have they done to you?"

"You were there when the blows were struck." Javert reminded. "Tell me, Valjean-- has all this been your doing?"

"Talk sense, Inspector. It is my purpose to act on your behalf." Valjean was pulling off his cravat and once this was loose, he used it to dry the prisoners face. Instinctively, Javert pulled his head away, but Valjean persisted. With a sigh, the patient relented; he was too weary to struggle against this unwanted kindness. "I have sent my appeals to the board."

"And how long have you been practicing law?" Despite his circumstance, Javert could still afford sarcasm. The comment inspired a gentle smile from his benefactor.

"Since this morning."

The new arrival draped his discarded cravat around the prisoners neck and quickly set about removing his coat.

"This is monstrous." Valjean observed. "I intend to complain most strongly to the court about your treatment. You are injured-- you require a physician."

Perhaps it was his weakened condition, perhaps his mind was not as clear as it should have been, but Javert could not refrain from a feeble laugh at the convicts doting attention. The fellow was as mad as any of them! To offer such unwarranted charity to his nemesis-- to the man who would see him returned to prison when all was done. Valjean tried as best he could to cover the thin, shivering and pathetic figure with his coat, draping it over his broad shoulders and tying the arms over his chest. What would possess a person to do this?

The convict was close enough for Javert to feel his breath, warm against his cold and numbing flesh. He could likewise taste the mans scent-- an odd mixture of lavender water and the musk of slight perspiration. Not an unpleasant odor, when compared to the stagnant air of the cell, or memories of Toulon. Without a second thought, Valjean rubbed his hands vigorously over the prisoners arms, to stimulate some heat and circulation. He likewise repeated the effort on the prisoners body, ruffling the dampened shirt and in the last wringing the extra water from it.

"Monstrous." the convict repeated in soft declaration. "I will sue to have you removed from here immediately."

Weakly, Javert raised his head in a futile effort to resume his normal height. He studied Valjeans expression, the worry and concern in that warm gaze, and wrinkled brow.

"Why?" was all he could say.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Don't be a fool." Valjean frowned. "I have sworn to see to your defense and now promise to see to your safety. I had no idea you would be treated so barbarously."

"What is this court? Who are these madmen?"

"They are ... the court. Jean sighed. "I swear to you, I know no more of it than do you."

"Why should you care what is done to me?" the prisoner urged. "Do you think to spare me for some greater brutality? Is this an attempt to earn my trust, so you may slit my throat yourself?"

Valjean stepped back and offered a hard glare. Even in this awful place, and in his pitiful state, Inspector Javert would afford no thought for simple human kindness. However, the convict could not believe Javert was blind to the bond between them.

"Not all men think as you." Valjeans voice was firm, admonishing his companion without raising his tone. "Not all men take hate with their daily bread. You may prefer to languish here, with your injuries untended, suffering for a cause-- no-- suffering for no cause at all! They mean to break you, Javert. To rob you of your liberty, your dignity-- perhaps even your sanity."

"They cannot do that."

"Oh, I assure you, Inspector-- they can. There is enough evil and hatred heaped against you---" Valjean stopped himself, and crossed to the door. "I will be back as soon as I can."

The guard returned to secure the door, noting briefly that the visitor was now devoid of coat and cravat. Valjean was gone, and Javert was left now with even more unanswered questions.

Not long afterward, there was another shuffling in the hall, and youthful voices growing louder with impertinence and laughter. When the prisoner looked up he saw several young men standing just beyond the bars. Students. Revolutionaries? They glared at him as if he was a menagerie beast, or a freak in a traveling show. The guard was fumbling with the keys again, the groups derisive laughter poorly hidden behind terse smiles. Then he noticed two or three gripped canes and sticks in their hands.


	4. Chapter 4

Prince of Liars 4

The jailor had been well paid; he had unlocked the cell and allowed half a dozen vengeful young men-- armed with canes, and venom-- a private audience with Javert. He was the man they now deemed a symbol of the things they had risen against. A puppet who had sent spies, ordered arrests, and took pleasure in thwarting their purpose at every opportunity. The tables had finally turned, and they intended to repay their troubles, with interest.

"Good evening, Inspector". a youth bowed with feigned respect. A burning torch was propped in an iron brace on the wall so there was light enough to see. "I hear you have a solicitor now, to plea for you."

"I need no one to plea for me." Javert frowned, eyes narrowed in undisguised contempt. "Though I am moved by your interest."

The young men chortled and laughed, one of them pointing the figured hook of his cane at the prisoner.

"There'll be pleas enough when were done, mostly from you."

"That's rather a fancy coat for so black a buzzard". another quipped. "A trophy? From some poor fool who looked at you the wrong way?"

One of their number ripped Valjeans charity from the prisoner's shoulders and tossed it rudely aside.

"Take care, its only borrowed." Javert advised.

"Right you are, sir." promised the boy. "We wouldn't want to get blood on it."

The prisoner knew the sort of anger these young men harbored; a birthright of bullets and barricades left them no better than savages. He could have sworn these same faces had been among the dead, littering the streets when the smoke cleared. Impossible, of course-- those rebels would been buried and forgotten. It must merely be that their kind was closely cut of the same cloth.

"Who are you, then? My executioners?" Javert's voice was almost mocking, showing no hint of fear or even concern.

"Good heavens no, man!" the leader of the group smiled. "We aren't here to kill you, mercy no! That unparalleled delight is reserved for the powers that be. We are simply here to take our sport---- at your expense, of course."

"Think of us as ready to give a lesson, from what we've already learned." another winked.

"Street chattel--" Javert snorted. "How charming. Six little ruffians ready to take on a man in chains. Your courage is indeed worthy of note. Take your sport, then, and be on your way."

His disdain only served to spur them on. Javert would accept his fate at their hands with the unshakeable belief that the law would eventually triumph. The first blow, sudden and violent, was laid across his shins with a stout stick. The prisoner gasped as his legs knocked from under him. His arms jerked hard and painfully with his weight now fully and abruptly on the chain. The pain was so intense that his stomach heaved to no avail.

A youth stood behind him, and seized his damp shirt in both hands. The boy tore it viciously in two, and then from each arm, leaving tattered rags hanging from the prisoners waist. For a moment the assailants studied the bared torso by torchlight. Their victim was as lean and his flesh as unblemished as any of those present, excepting for the darkening bruises from the earlier brutality of his guards.

The figured ivory handle of the walking stick was again leveled, this time in line with the bruise on the victims ribs. Javert had clamped his mouth closed against the agony of the first blow, and clenched his teeth in preparation now for the next.

"That looks like a nasty one." the fellow with the cane observed. To prove his point, he jabbed the wound with his stick. Javert grimaced, and writhed, to the amusement of his tormentors. A second jab, harder, and then a third, caused Javert to lose resolve a moment and open his mouth to gasp for air.

Across his back and broad shoulders the rain of blows soon followed, laid on in angry welts and stripes by canes and sticks. Javert tensed, clenching his eyes with every strike, though he did not-- would not-- cry out. Already weak and exhausted, he was near to losing consciousness when the beating halted. It was not over; his tormentors simply wanted to give the man time to recover. It would not do to beat a man who was in a faint and unable to appreciate their efforts. It was also time enough to pass around the flask and enjoy success.

The visit seemed too short for them; for Javert, each moment was prolonged by the agony.

Jean Valjean was a man possessed, pursuing justice for his cause. Hours passed quickly, lost in filing papers and seeking audience. He and the magistrate finally met in an anteroom of his chambers.

"I've come about the prisoner, Inspector Javert."

"Not Inspector. Citizen Javert. He no longer holds official rank, I'm sure you understand."

Valjean nodded; he certainly understood, but knew full well the man in question would not, nor would he accept any judgment pronounced against him.

"It is a rather urgent matter I come about. I have been to see Citizen Javert, and find him in a severe state of exhaustion, with injuries in dire need of a physicians care."

"You have made this evaluation yourself, have you? What are your medical qualifications?"

"None, sir, but his condition is so grave that even a layman like myself can see it. He has been further abused by the guards, beyond the discipline ordered at trial. I hereby request his release, in order that he may receive medical attention."

"Valjean, you seem to be taking especial care with this creature's well-being. Owing to your prior record, and your numerous acts of kindness, I can only assume it is as a result of your reform. But this is an exceptional case."

"Yes, sir. Which is why I have come forward with my request."

"The court cannot grant him pardon under any circumstances."

"Not a pardon, your honor-- but a temporary reprieve. He would remain under arrest and guarded at all times. Shackled if need be. But in his present situation, it is impossible to adequately treat him."

The magistrate eyed Valjean, as if taking measure of the man. Something about the fellow touched him, perhaps the earnest look in his eye or the lack of guile in his speech. The judge could not see, or know, the mysterious bond that had been forged between those men, anymore than either could explain it. Still, he was tempted to accept the convict's word, and provide him with those things requested.

"I like you, Valjean. You have suffered much, but have come out the better man for it-- perhaps the better man of us all. But I am afraid I cannot release the prisoner unless directly into your care, and yours alone. You would be wholly responsible for him, his attention and survival. Yes, survival, as there are many who wish him the most grievous harm. Under those conditions only, will I agree. You will essentially be his guardian, and keeper, and should the worst occur--- by that I mean should he manage to escape-- you will be held personally responsible, and will take his place in the dock."

Valjean did not give a moments pause to consider it.

"I accept the charge, your honor. I will assume full legal responsibility."

The magistrate took the paper to sign and looked at his visitor one last time.

"I do hope you know what youre getting yourself into."

The guard stood silent outside the cell, turned to stone by the sight. The torch had been left burning when the crowd of boys left, drunk with their victory. By this light, he could see the prisoner hanging limp in his chains. Not a sound, not a moan or a breath came from him. His half naked body was marked by angry stripes, his head was bowed, and face concealed by long black tangles of hair.

He must be dead-- a sacrifice left in the wake of the celebrants. It was not that the guard regretted having let them in, or collecting coins for the favor, or even that the prisoner was likely dead-- but he felt that perhaps he would be held responsible for any indiscretion. He couldn't very well tell his superiors it was suicide.

The soldier remained staring at Javert, half-hoping he would gasp or move-- then he would be able to walk away, assured of some shred of life. He never heard Valjean until the fellow was walking down the corridor toward him.

"Monsieur-- I am here to collect the prisoner Javert." Jean produced the paper as proof to that right. The guard looked at him sheepishly, and then instinctively stepped back. Valjean was momentarily confused by this behavior, and glanced briefly into the cell. Then he jerked his head back, once the gruesome sight registered in his mind.

"My God!" He seized the bars and pressed closer. "Javert!!" Now the convict's accusing glare turned to the jailor guard. "What happened here??"

"I had no choice, sir--- " The man lied, as he edged away. "There were six of them---"

Still clutching the orders for Javert's release, Valjean took the frightened sentinel by the front of his coat, and shook him.

"Six of who? What did they do? Answer me!"

A handful of coins spilled onto the stones as Valjean throttled the guilty party. When he realized the implication, the convict slammed the creature against the bars.

"The keys! If he's dead I swear youll get the same!"

Terrified, the fellow fumbled with his keys, handing them to Valjean and for his trouble was shoved aside. He paused only long enough to gather his money and then rushed away up the corridor, intending to keep himself well away from further harm.

Valjean unlocked the cell and threw the door open, stepping in a few paces. For a torturous moment he stopped and stared in horror. Was this indeed Javert? Dead? It wasn't possible.

Though not anxious to confirm his fear, the convict crossed the remaining distance slowly. Dread clutched him from within, strangling off his breath. The prisoner's body was a mass of welts and bruises. Closer now, he could hear the faint sound of weak breath.

"Javert?"

The man gasped, drawing sharply on the air when hearing the familiar voice. Slowly, he raised his head. Valjean's brow knit in worry at the sight; this ruthless predator was barely alive. He had blood on his lips, which trickled down his chin, and swollen bruises on his cheek. He could not even fully open his eyes.

"Valjean." he croaked hoarsely. "You're late."

There was a moment of silence as a welcome sense of relief filled Jean; not only was Javert still alive, but as caustic as ever.

"What happened here? Who did this?"

"I didn't get their names." Half of a wry smile twitched across the prisoners lips. "Students. Boys--- friends of yours?"

"I'm taking you out of here. The magistrate has signed the orders."

If he had not been so weakened by his ordeal, Citizen Javert would have visibly registered shock. Valjean reached for the manacles, trying three keys in the lock before he found the correct match. Javert's numb arms dropped limply, and he collapsed into Valjeans arms. Though this former Inspector was taller than his companion, supporting his slender frame was no great trial for the convict's strength. He cradled the injured man as gently as possible, as if he was Christ lowered from the cross. The prisoner grimaced and winced at any pressure on his wounds. Still, he did not object to Jean's help or make any attempt to stand on his own.

"Can you walk?" Valjean asked in innocence.

Javert groaned and looked through narrowed eyes at his savior.

"You will have to forgive me, but I am putting all my efforts into staying alive at the moment."

Somewhat clumsily, Valjean reached for the coat that had been tossed aside earlier. Supporting Javert with one arm, he plucked the clothing from the floor with the other. This was hastily wrapped around the invalid's body, and then with one sweep he lifted Javert in his arms like a child.

The man gasped aloud with the pain, clenching his eyes.

"Forgive me." the convict quickly whispered. He was greeted by an oddly amused expression from his charge.

"That's never been in my nature, Valjean. You of all men should know that." Javert rolled his head to the side, finding an anchor against Jean's shoulder. "But perhaps this once."

Fixed on his purpose, Valjean slipped from the cell and up the corridor without hesitation. 'Jean the jack' found this burden easy to bear. Whether from loss of blood, exhaustion or exposure, it seemed Javert was lapsing into delirium. His words started to lose all sensec, and his speech was beginning to slur.

"Death isn't so terrible.... Not like the poets and clerics say. Have you my notes?" He moaned against Jean's shoulder, not as much pained as pleased. "Porter, to the Prefect...."

The shamefaced guard asked no questions, and held wide the jail door to permit the pair to exit. Except for a last angry glare from Valjean, nothing further was exchanged. Up the stairs and at the end of another hall there would be a cab waiting.

Javert's breath, ragged but warm against his neck, assured Valjean that the man still lived, though he was possibly unconscious. It was some slight coughing and a weak chuckle that next attracted his attention as they ascended the steps. The dark voice that had been whispering to Javert proved a source of some secret humor.

".... a bride is carried into her prison, not out of it."

"Try to stay quiet, Inspector, and rest. You'll be well looked after now."


	5. Chapter 5

Prince of Liars 5

The only image in Javert's clouded mind was that shadow. Hulking, heavy, with burning red eyes, it waited to be recognized.

"Who are you?" The Inspector's thoughts were inspired more of irritation than curiosity. "What do you want?"

"You know what I am." it replied. "I do not exist outside of you. I am your creation, and now, your master."

"You do not exist at all. I deny you. You have nothing to do with me."

"Then why are you speaking to me? Why am I answering?"

"You are an impossibility. The product of delirium."

"I assure you, I am as real as you are, and you would do well to accept that fact."

"Leave me alone."

"Perhaps, for now-- but while you enjoy your solitude, you may want to contemplate a few other insults to your logic. Such as those young men who attacked you."

"They will answer for it."

"They have already answered for it. They are all dead. Surely you must have noticed that, Inspector."

"That isn't possible."

"Under normal circumstances, you would be correct. But what, of your recent experience, has been normal? Finding yourself on trial? The hand of the law, itself locked in manacles." A short, deep laugh escaped the creature. "And the witnesses against you? Most gone to their graves, before the court ever convened."

"No. Not possible."

"You saw them. You heard them. And as far as the students were concerned, you certainly felt them."

"Leave me!"

"As you wish."

The image dissolved and darkness prevailed. The thoughtless void would be a welcomed respite for Javert. Whatever this new 'reality' was, it had to be some form of illusion. Or was he losing his mind?

He awoke with a sudden jolt, gasping for air like a drowning man, suddenly bursting through the water's surface. Javert twisted violently, flailing his free arm, slamming painfully onto his back and landing abruptly on… a bed? He pulled his legs up, but the left one would not obey. This, and his right arm, were held almost immobile by chains. Manacled! He was secured to the head and foot posts of a bed.

"What is this??" he growled.

"Alright, alright, no need to get yourself upset, monsieur!"

He jerked his head around to find the source of this slightly gruff feminine voice. Across the room, a portly old woman, dressed mainly in drab grey, was waddling away toward the door. She wore a servant's white apron, and cap, and was carrying a large basin of water.

"Who the hell are you? Where am I?"

"It's alright, monsieur. You've had a nice bath, and M. Valjean will be in to see you directly."

It took no time at all for the Inspector to realize he was lying naked on this prison of a bed, and he immediately reached for a rumpled sheet to throw it over his midsection.

"Of all the impertinence!" he snapped.

"Yes, monsieur." The woman went her way, amused at the patient's outrage. The door latch clicked in her wake, leaving Javert to survey his surroundings with mounting disgust.

The room was not very large, and sparsely furnished in the impersonal style of a public guest room or tavern accommodation. A dresser, a chair, a mirror-- and of course the bed made up the main pieces, with a fireplace, thankfully lit, in the corner. The arch of the rafters indicated it was a chamber on an upper floor, and the light coming through the gabled windows proved that it was day. But this still did not explain why he should be chained naked to a bed.

He struggled up on an elbow, yanking against the restraints on his ankle and wrist. A wave of pain swept him and he looked down at the red welts and lacerations across his body. The recent beating came to mind, suffered at the hands of those young men--- who were supposed to have been dead. That made less sense than his present situation, and his present situation was irrational in the extreme. It was the woman's parting words that had explained it in part.

"Valjean." he huffed, Javert collapsed back against the mattress, which caused another wave of pain. The injuries to his back would make comfortable rest impossible.

There was a gentle rapping at the door. Javert again yanked at his chains in frustration, and then rolled his eyes.

"You're on your own." he grumbled at the caller. "If you're waiting for me to open the door, you're in for disappointment."

Outside, Jean smirked as his own foolishness; politely announcing his presence was a matter of habit. He admitted himself, and closed the door behind him. Javert craned his neck in order to observe the new arrival.

"I assume you're responsible for this." He rattled his chains weakly. The lack of gratitude was no less than Valjean had expected.

"You're welcome." Jean smiled.

"You can remove these immediately, if you want to be useful."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Javert. You have been released to my care, with the stipulation that you remain a prisoner."

"This is ridiculous." His free arm slammed the mattress in protest. "I shouldn't be a prisoner in the first place! What right do you-- does anyone-- have to detain me? On what charge? And don't go citing that third rate operetta of a courtroom in support. Who is behind this?"

Valjean stood calmly, his arms relaxed, hands clasped before him, studying the patient with a benign expression and soft smile. This only served to irritate Javert further.

"Are you deaf?" he urged. "Why are you standing there like a simpleton? Haven't you got the key?"

His jailor lightly patted a vest pocket to indicate that said key was in fact close to his heart.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Inspector." Valjean would still acknowledge the man's former rank, despite the dictates of the court. "But they would not release you for medical care unless you were kept restrained."

Javert lay his head back with a frustrated huff.

"Medical care." he grumbled. "Who was that woman? And where are my clothes?"

"One of the sisters, who will be acting as your nurse. And your clothes were bloodied and torn, pointless to keep them."

"And just what do you propose to do, now that I'm your prisoner?"

"See that you get proper care and attention. You were badly beaten, and suffering exposure before that. You may think you've got the strength to return to court, but that's just your temper speaking."

"Return to court? Don't be absurd. And what would it matter to you, if I hanged in that cell until I bled out? Oh yes, I know, you took up my defense. How noble. That changes nothing--- You're the one who should be in the dock." Javert began to feel dizzy, as his strength started to wane. Valjean was right; it was anger and outrage filling him with vitriol and giving him enough will to fight. He could not keep this up much longer, as exhaustion began to overtake him. But it didn't deter the sentiment; if he was being rude and belligerent, it was because that is precisely what he felt. He would not be indebted to this convict, despite the man's obsession with charity.

Still smiling, Valjean approached the side of the bed.

"You make me very curious, Inspector. It's something I have thought about more than once in our….long association. What was it that happened to you, and when, to make you such a cold, unfeeling creature?"

"You left out ungrateful." Javert turned his face away, refusing to look at the man, who now took a seat beside him. Uncomfortable with his present state, the former Inspector clutched another handful of linen and covered himself further. "I wouldn't expect you-- a convict-- to appreciate a man's devotion to duty. The law serves the good of all. You have never served any good, but your own."

"In all fairness, neither of us would find ourselves in this situation if that were true. There is a greater good--"

"Oh, spare me your sermons, can't you? More fitting for those hypocrites in pulpits." Javert grimaced suddenly, the pain and cold causing him to shiver suddenly.

"No more fighting, Inspector." Valjean's voice was soft and fatherly. "You are in no condition to serve anyone's good. Can you turn to your side?" Without waiting for a reply, the visitor reached for a small tray set on the table beside the bed. Javert turned curious eyes toward his benefactor.

"Do you intend to finish this with a knife in the back, then?"

"You're babbling, monsieur. Now turn away if you will."

The tray held nothing more than bowls and sponges, and with a weary sigh, the patient acquiesced. Valjean winced at the sight of the Inspector's back. Broad pale shoulders, narrowing to an almost boyish waist, the rest concealed beneath the sheet clutched greedily to his chest. That back, proud, strong, severe, was a lattice work of lashes, and welts, some already swollen, though all washed clean by the nurse's careful attention. Gently, without realizing his own actions, Valjean's fingertips felt the heat of a wound. Javert flinched at the touch but did not move away.

"Pretty, isn't it?" was his only comment. He imagined the convict might prefer to gloat at the abuse, considering their past. Jean sighed and shook his head.

"This may hurt a bit, I apologize."

Javert stared at the wall, barely nodding to indicate he understood. Valjean dipped a swab of cotton cloth into a tin, taking up a small amount of ointment. Slowly and carefully, with as little pressure as possible, he dabbed the salve to one and then another of the reddened marks. The patient's back tensed, his muscles flexing taut against the discomfort.

"I'm sorry." Jean repeated.

"You might have at least warmed it." Javert grumbled.


	6. Chapter 6

Prince of Liars 6

Jean Valjean took great care with his duties. He had thought it best to relieve the nurses of their responsibility for this first ministration, until the patient's demeanor could be assessed. The Inspector may have received their attentions silently and stoically, deferring to their gender-- or may have fought their efforts, made demands for freedom and upset the good sisters. Such alternative would have also exhausted Javert and made recovery more lengthy. To Jean, it was worth the extra care and time it took to apply the medication. Except for an occasional quiet moan, his patient made no other sound.

Once all the lacerations had been received attention, Jean set aside the tray, and took a broad section of gauze from the table. He folded it and gently laid it against that tortured flesh, leaving a length free at each side, to later wrap around the patient's chest.

"Can you---" Valjean set a hand lightly on Javert's bare shoulder. Those arms had not escaped the beating, and the convict was afraid the slightest touch would cause additional pain. "Do you think you could lie flat, on your back?"

Javert barely nodded, and drew a deep breath. He moved slowly to oblige, but soon decided speed would be best. With a groan through tight lips, he quickly altered his position as requested and once in place, gasped and rolled his eyes with the pain.

"I'm sorry." Valjean repeated. The tenderness and concern in his voice was disturbing to Javert. The patient furrowed his brow in confusion, as his rough-hewn nurse smoothed away stray locks of hair. "I assure you, Inspector, if I had known anyone was going to go to your cell ….." It seemed too awkward a thought to finish.

"Why are you doing this?" the patient whispered. The situation was unfathomable. How could this criminal-- this felon-- a debased and lawless creature--- feel any responsibility or charity toward him? They were opposites in everything, forever divided by the law, and it was more than a little unsettling to find himself now in this man's care.

"What does it matter?" Valjean countered softly. He took up the tray again, and weakly the patient pushed the sheet down to his hips with his free hand. The exposed flesh was reddened and raw, marked with nearly as many stripes as his back. The victim's face was not left untouched, and now that it had been cleaned, the injuries were clear. Valjean's expression for the moment betrayed shock and horror. This, to Javert, seemed a source of amusement.

"Come now, monsieur." the Inspector smirked. "You once wanted to wield the cane yourself."

"I was another man then." Jean looked away, almost angry with the memory, and the fact Javert saw fit to call it to mind. "I was everything prison and 19 years could have made a man. I was an animal, a beast with no human sense or feeling. That creature no longer exists."

Javert's smirk slowly faded, between these words and the pain. He would not and could not believe any such transformation was possible, or permanent. The convict was at least subservient for the moment and serving a purpose, regardless of motivation. That much the Inspector could accept.

Prompted by the silence between them, Jean took up a clean bit of cotton cloth and looked at his patient with sympathy and tenderness. For the moment it was Javert who as forced to look away.

"I promise you, Inspector, you will not come to any harm in my care." He dipped the cloth into a tin and began the slow task of tending to the wounds. His eyes brimmed with tears, to see Javert laid so low-- a man who had been a noble and remarkable adversary, however misguided his loyalties might have been. The convict could no longer see an enemy, or anything to inspire fear or hate, but understood little had changed for Javert.

The Inspector grit his teeth behind lips firmly closed. His cheek, discolored with bruises, flexed with the pressure, giving Valjean the only hint of any discomfort. The convict would invariably apologize when he saw this, and further slow his movements or lighten his touch. Javert would shake his head, quietly confirming that apologies were unnecessary, that the pain was but a passing inconvenience, and that Jean should continue, and not mind any moans that may involuntarily escape. He would remain passive and compliant, and accept the well-intended attention for both their sakes. Javert reasoned that while such was of physical necessity for him, perhaps in some way Valjean might equate the action with some private penance?

The Inspector quickly excused that thought, for fear the penance might be his own.

Nothing else was spoken between them, as Jean worked. The Inspector did not like being an object of study, anymore than he cared for pity, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it now. At least he would not acknowledge the convict with the slightest glance, and continued to focus on the plaster wall beside the bed. It would have been unbearable to see his benefactor shed a tear.

When the task was at last complete, and the tray set aside, Valjean studied his work. He had taken care to apply ointment to a few of the more vicious lashes on Javert's arms, and now observed the blackened angry bruise on the patient's side. This marked the first blows, received of his guards in court. Carefully, Valjean set his palm on it. The skin was strangely warm in his touch, and before he realized it, Jean gently caressed it with his hand, as if he could relieve the agony merely by will. He felt himself captivated by the sensation, as well as the sight of Javert's naked flesh, the curve of his waist, the slope to his hips….. The Inspector sensed something in this-- something more than the touch of a healer. Curious, Javert looked at Valjean.

"What are you doing?"

Jean pulled himself from this reverie and back to the matter of medicine.

"The blow to your ribs." he explained. "They may be injured."

Javert nodded, already suspecting his 'nurse' would lack the resolve to find this out. The Inspector slid his free hand over Valjean's own, and mustering what strength he could, pushed it hard against his side. The result was an agonized gasp, as his hand fell away. Still, it was impossible to tell without an actual physician's examination, if this pain was from the bruise or a break. Jean was appalled.

"Why did you do that??"

"Intellectual curiosity."

Valjean quickly wrapped the remaining length of clean muslin around his patient, as snug as he could. He would see to calling in a doctor in the next day or two, to examine any possibility of fracture. If the patient needed binding until the bones mended, it would be best for a physician to do it.

With his free hand, Javert reached for the sheet laying low across his abdomen. Valjean noted a slight tremor, with the motion weak and clumsy. Javert pulled this up a few inches, and shivered. Like a dutiful father, Valjean pulled this up to the patient's chin, and likewise pulled a wool blanket and quilt into place. Javert was drifting now, possibly to sleep, or perhaps into unconscious stupor. He looked at Jean with weary eyes, half closed and partly swollen, and gave a weak nod of approval-- the closest the Inspector would come to expressing gratitude. A few moments more and he was dozing, his breath softly rasping through slightly parted lips.

Valjean looked down at the sleeping figure with an odd mixture of pity and admiration in his heart. It seemed the most natural thing to him, and yet certainly the least logical. Inspector Javert had been the primary source of trouble in his life. Because of this person's unrelenting search, his unswerving dedication to the law, and his single-mindedness regarding one convict, Jean Valjean had been forced to run, to change his name and his life, his lodgings and his dreams--- if he intended to remain free and do those deeds he'd promised. Javert, who had been the devil in Valjean's world, who would not-- could not-- be reasoned with, cajoled or forgotten, had been the powerful dark force shadowing him. There would be peace occasionally, for five or even ten years, but never any end. Now this same black clad demon lay helpless and chained, completely at the mercy of 24601. Yet vengeance, retribution or violence against this person would never enter the mind of his prey.

It seemed odd that one man could learn anything about another by running away from him for twenty years. Stranger still that one should develop a bond with his tormentor, but this was not be the normal case. Owing to circumstance, and perhaps the unspoken or wholly unknown needs of two such seemingly dissimilar souls, there indeed existed a connection. Even before this moment, Valjean had known and understood that Javert's need was the greater of the two. The Inspector may have had the full power of the law in his favor, but without it, there was nothing else.

Valjean could not explain it, but having extended charity, care and kindness to this specter of his past, he desired to do more. He felt Javert's face for signs of fever, smoothed his hair, and stroked his cheek. If the man had been awake, he would never be allowed such liberty. It spoke of an affection, a tenderness normally reserved for lovers, or perhaps a deep fondness between friends. Javert had never admitted to such sentiments toward anything in his life and was for the most part devoid of friends, and had never felt the gentle hand of a lover. He would be affronted by the notion of anyone's touch, motivated by anything but rage. Valjean would keep his thoughts to himself, and carry the burden of loneliness for them both.


	7. Chapter 7

Prince of Liars 7

Javert's sleep was fitful, plagued by the injuries that scarred him. He tossed and turned as much as the restraints allowed, alternately burning with fever and shivering in the cold. He would kick his blankets off in the process, only to have them replaced by the caring hands of his nurses, or Valjean. The convict had remained dutifully at the bedside the entire afternoon and into the night. He had his meals brought up, and busied himself with reading or writing correspondence. The fire was kept burning, and the vigil maintained. There was no real way to gauge the patient's progress, and no way of telling what was going on in his troubled brain.

Javert awoke-- or believed he did-- feeling a torturous pressure on his body. Someone, or something, was lying prone on top of him, nearly crushing his chest and making breathing difficult. Every slash, everywound, front and back, agonized under the pressure.

He had opened his eyes to the night, seeing nothing but darkness. A moment more and he recognized a greater blackness above him, and those two red eyes glaring down.

"Get away." the Inspector hissed. "Get off --"

"I wouldn't dream of it." the shadow breathed hot against his face. "Not when I can have you all to myself."

"Go away, damn you."

"Difficult to breath, is it? Almost suffocating?"

The pressure let up slightly and Javert gasped for air. The creature-- whatever it was-- had him pinioned, even holding his free arm down and rigid. The Inspector would not relent to this illusion, and would refuse further acknowledgment of it. This did not keep the thing from acknowledging him.

"I would not dare burden you with my full weight. It's much heavier than my appearance shows. A crushing weight, certainly-- you would be smashed like a pea on a dinner plate, little Javert. It is the weight of all those laborers who lost their livelihood, and the families who lost their way, when M. Madeleine was made to 'disappear'. All the lives that Jean Valjean had ever touched, and all the lives deprived of his kindness by your pathetic duty. Why, I think I probably have the weight of the church behind me! Every voice ever stilled, every plea stifled, every heart silenced. You have been feeding me for many years, Javert, and it's been quite the feast."

The Inspector forced his head from one side to the other, trying to avoid the putrid odor expelled with the creature's words. It was rank with the smell of decay, of rotting corpses and rancid food-- the sweat of men, their blood spilled and thickening in pools. The stench of death, despair and defeat-- the sewers and the cesspits-- every detestable odor associated with humankind filled the room and choked his lungs. If the pressure on his chest had not already restricted breath, Javert would have forced it on himself, to shut out the poisoned air.

"Of course, you don't believe a word of it-- how could you? I don't fit into your logic. I am an impossibility which does not exist. You claim I am not a creature of your making--- or any creature at all. And if that is the case, monsieur, why are you having such trouble breathing?"

The Inspector struggled; between fighting for air and denying the obvious witness of his senses, he was rapidly overwhelmed. No amount of twisting or turning could free him, no effort could find a full clear breath. His head was swimming suddenly, and his body reacted on pure instinct; it was dying and the animal force that is within all men fought for survival.

Valjean had been dozing with the warm comfort of the fire, and was jarred awake suddenly by a loud, desperate gasp. By lamplight he could see the patient convulsing violently. The invalid's body curved upward-- heels, shoulders and head were all that was still in contact with the bed. Jean vaulted from his chair, and was at the bedside immediately, as the figure slammed back hard against the ticking.

"Javert! Javert!!" Valjean took the man's head in his hands. The patient twitched sharply; his eyes rolled back, and some slight froth edged his lips. He looked as helpless as an ailing child, and as stricken a mad dog. Jean feared death was near, and turning slightly, he shouted toward the door, "Sister! Sister-- hurry!"

The patient fell limp, all motion ceasing. Valjean felt for a pulse and vigorously rubbed the unfortunate's hand and arm. By now the nurse had arrived.

"Javert! Can you hear me??"

"Oh, Lord have mercy!" the sister crossed herself, fearing the worst.

"You must get the doctor immediately!" Valjean ordered. "I don't care what the hour is-- tell him I will pay whatever he asks!"

The woman went on her way. Jean, satisfied that there was indeed still a pulse, wiped clean the patient's face with a damp cloth. A low, mournful moan escaped Javert and his eyes flickered slowly and partly open.

"Valjean…." he groaned weakly in recognition. "Did you see him?"

His caregiver quickly covered him again, straightening the tangled sheet and blankets.

"I'm here, Javert. You've just had a seizure of some kind--"

"No." the Inspector gripped Valjean's wrist with a sudden strength. "Did you see someone here?"

"The nurse had just left-- we're getting the doctor."

Javert shook his head firmly in the negative.

"Not…the nurse. Something else. Was there something else--- laying over me?"

Valjean was certain this was merely a ranting brought by fever-- there was certainly no one else in the room, much less on the bed.

"It's alright," he assured patiently. "There is no one else here. No one else. You're safe."

Javert's grip slackened and his hand fell away. How could expect anyone else see the product of his own insanity?

"I've lost my mind." he mumbled.

"You have a fever." A caring hand against the troubled brow confirmed this. "You're weak and need to rest."

"..lost my mind." Javert repeated. "I couldn't breath. He tried to…"

"Who?"

"Illusion." There was something strange in the way he whispered the word. Valjean looked bewildered as Javert's face took on a completely foreign expression. Gone was the confidence, the severity, the immovable strength and imprint of the law; when he turned his dark haunted eyes up at the convict, it was as if this was a frightened child waking from a bad dream. If Jean had not already felt passion and sympathy for the safety and well-being of his former nemesis, he would have at that moment been persuaded fully to concern. Valjean took up the Inspector's free hand, which grasped his own in return as if a life-line to a sailor cast adrift.

By this anchor, their hands entwined, Javert tried to pull himself up. Jean added a second hand to brace him, all the while transfixed on the look of fear and pain on the patient's face. Some inner terror had laid hold of Javert-- a private demon unknown and unknowable to anyone else.

"I am undone, Valjean. I would not believe, cannot believe, and yet, I felt it. It crushed my ribs, choked me with it's breath-- it was trying to force the life from me---"

"A dream, that's all. Hallucination brought about by your condition."

"But my body….believed it."

"Lie back, Inspector. Please. You must rest."

"Don't let me sleep."

"Rest." Valjean eased the man back down, an easy task as Javert was so weak. He grimaced as he settled against the feather mattress, feeling his injuries more acutely, but he would not release the convict's hand. It was now that Jean saw the gauze, still wrapped over the Inspector's torso, stained with fresh blood. Something had caused the wounds to open and bleed again. Perhaps it was the result of struggling and restlessness, or the increased rush of pulse during delirium-- or both. It could have also been brought about by some extreme pressure.

"I will stay here, with you." Valjean promised, making no attempt to pull his hand free. With the damp cloth he wiped the patient's face again, a restorative move which generated a gentle sigh and closed eyes. "If you doze and show any distress, I will wake you."

Javert nodded slightly. He gazed up at the convict, with an expression of peace now. He found it quite curious that the man he had hunted and hounded for so long was now his protector and had even voluntary offered his services in a courtroom defense.

"How can you do all this? How can you be so concerned about what happens to me?" Javert whispered. Valjean smiled almost tenderly.

"I can be no other way. It is not easily explained except as God's grace."

Though a feeble smile toyed at his lips, Javert did not laugh. He did not criticize, argue or even debate this reasoning. Valjean was perhaps an anomaly-- certainly not what could be expected from a criminal run to ground, as far as the Inspector was concerned.

"But you certainly hate me." the patient suggested.

"No monsieur, I do not hate you. Perhaps once, long ago, hate was all that kept me alive."

"But that man is dead." Javert repeated Jean's earlier confession. "Now I am to believe you are a wholly separate creature, whose purpose is to live in faith and do good works."

"It would be simpler if you could believe that." Valjean nodded, still smiling. "I do not see you as an enemy, and I hope in time you would come to look at me the same way."

Javert smirked and shook his head slowly.

"You are a dilemma. I will continue to doubt the notion of reform. You are a convict, Valjean, and yet you spare no attention for my care. If we were to encounter each other in the street, I would not hesitate to arrest you."

"I understand. Such is the devotion you hold to your religion, the Law. Allow that I, too, have faith, to a greater law."

"Let's not take that road." Javert grimaced. "We will agree to disagree on the subject of our differing faiths. Whatever motivation you claim, I will admit it this instance I am glad of it."

"Well!" Jean was delighted, and amazed. "Do I detect an expression of gratitude? Appreciation? Is this Javert?" He laughed lightly. "No worries, monsieur Inspector, I will not utter a word. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank heavens." Javert muttered sarcastically. "My reputation would be in ruins."


	8. Chapter 8

Prince of Liars 8

Despite his best intentions to remain awake, Javert quickly surrendered to exhaustion and sleep. He would have preferred to remain aware, mindful of Valjean's presence. At least he might not succumb again to nightmares or visions under the man's care, or at least have witness should the phantoms be real. Jean watched over him, faithfully studying for any sign of pain or distress. He was relieved to find the sleep so deep that perhaps even the distortions of a fevered brain could not disturb it.

The doctor was quick to arrive, and hearing the activity in the lower hall, Valjean slipped from the room to speak with him. He did not wish to rouse the sleeper as yet, and felt a private conference in the corridor would allow Javert at least a few more moments of rest.

Valjean relayed the story as succinctly as possible; how Javert had suffered at the hands of courtroom guards, the greed of a jailor and the vengeance of an angry gang of boys. While he explained the medical care thus far given for physical injuries, he expressed his concern about the patient's mental condition. Quite right that such things be spoken out of earshot of the afflicted.

"Inspector Javert."

The dreamer, somewhere deep in the void, heard his name.

"Inspector." It called again-- an unfamiliar voice, neither male nor female-- and most importantly, not the dark tormentor he had come to dread.

"Javert?"

It sounded reluctant to wake him. At least it was more polite and less intrusive that the other demons that had recently plagued him. Did he open his eyes? Or did the image take substance someplace behind closed lids, within his mind?

A figure, with long flowing hair, stood before him. The youthful face greeted him, benevolent and comforting with a gentle smile, but giving no indication of gender. Still, the appearance of this creature caused Javert as much anxiety as would the more malevolent shadow.

"Am…. I….. dead?" He may have pronounced the words, or merely thought them. He now compared this person's appearance with artwork of a religious nature he had seen long ago. "Are you…. an angel?" Rather a weak and desperate assumption, made by a man who had never before known weakness and desperation-- or true despair.

"I have always been here." it assured. "Waiting for you."

"I don't understand. Do I know you?"

"Perhaps by rumor, you knew of me." The voice seemed more feminine now, and Javert chose to accept it as such. "But until this time, I was not invited into your understanding, your world."

"I'm sure I haven't invited you now." He did not mean to articulate the thought, but his mysterious visitor had heard nonetheless, and found some humor in it.

"An abstract concept, as well as immaterial."

Javert found this clever, even in his confused state of mind, and felt oddly comfortable now, in this creature's presence. He had always valued intellect and wit, and privately considered it was similar to what he himself might say.

"I'm flattered." the figure nodded. "And you are right, to have no fear of me."

"Have I lost my mind?" It was not an idle question, but born of a sincere desire to know, and as close to a plea as the Inspector might make.

"There are those who would like you to think so. Some, in fact, whose purpose is to drive you to that very thing."

Javert squirmed uncomfortably with these words, and the thought it stirred.

"The shadow-- the thing that claims to be--"

"Shh." A gentle hand was held up, and he was calmed again, "You need not call on that image. It serves no purpose to dwell on the darkness."

"What is happening? How would I know you-- what business do you have with me?"

"Shhh." she cautioned again with a smile. "I see you are not an Inspector for nothing. Your keen, inquisitive mind suits you."

"Will you answer?" He might have easily made it a demand, but to do so would have been wrong, somehow.

"You have the answers, Javert. You have not assigned words to them yet, and perhaps you don't speak that language, but absence of words does not mean absence of understanding." It was frustrating that his visitor preferred to talk in riddles. "I have existed, all your life, just beyond the horizon of what you might call your reason. Until now, as I have said, you have never made a place for me. And it has been Jean Valjean who has helped clear my path."

"I don't understand." he persisted. "Please, help me to understand…" What was he doing? Begging for help, and from an illusion??

"There is no shame in asking." she clarified. "Perhaps we would have met long ago, and such terrible things not befallen you, if your pride had allowed for it before now. The dark one you fear, the substance of hate, cannot destroy you without your permission."

"Where did it come from? Is it really my doing-- my creation?"

"That is not a productive line of inquiry." Again, Javert could hear himself saying those exact words. "Would the knowledge be a comfort to you? Or would it bring more suffering, more guilt?"

"I have no guilt." The thought escaped him before he realized it. This stubborn affirmation seemed to cloud the space between the vision and his comprehension of it.

"We all have regrets." she specified. "It is not such an evil to acknowledge this. Only in denying or ignoring it does it become harmful."

"Is that what I have done? "

"In part, but it is perhaps enough for now to realize that mistakes are made by everyone, even Inspectors of Police. It is part of the human condition. Regret follows."

"There cannot be mistakes in the Law." he defended.

"Whose law? The law of men?"

"There is no other law."

"Alas, Javert. You are mistaken."

The image began to fade. Sound began to replace sight, and though this visitation had been perplexing, he did not want it to end.

"You will see me again, Javert." came the whispered promise. "Until then, you must learn from Jean Valjean. Do not deafen your ears to the voice of the heart."

Then, she was gone.

The sounds in the room around him-- men talking in hushed tones-- became more obvious in her absence. He opened troubled eyes to see Valjean, and a second man, standing over the bed. One of the sisters stood near at hand, straightening the bedcovers.

"I must protest these accommodations, Valjean." the unknown man huffed. "He is hardly a threat in his present state."

"The restraints are sadly a necessity, doctor. A condition imposed by the court. They would not permit him to released to my care, otherwise."

"Well, as long as you are aware of my objections. Ah, it seems the patient is awake. Can you hear me, Inspector?"

A quiet nod served as reply.

"This is Dr. Trudeau." Valjean introduced in a soft voice. "I sent for him, after you had your… seizure." Trudeau set about taking a pulse, and examining head and neck for inflammation, concerned that a beating may have fractured the skull or ruptured a blood vessel. Such could certainly on cause undue pressure the brain and instigate seizures. Javert remained complacent throughout, allowing himself to be prodded and studied.

"How are you feeling?" Trudeau asked routinely. This brought a smirk from the patient.

"I've been better."

Valjean turned his face away, to hide his smile.

"Yes, I'm sure. You've been considerably knocked about, monsieur-- no doubt you are aware of the fact. Trouble breathing?" The doctor moved his attention to Javert's torso, trying to be as gentle as possible in his examine.

"Only during my….episode."

"These bandages are going to need changing. And I want to have a look at your side. Valjean tells me you may have a fractured rib."

"And a fractured mind, did he mention that?" Javert looked over at his caregiver, who was reluctant to meet his eyes.

"I'm not surprised you've been delirious. You have a fever, and need fluids. Are you able to eat and drink?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned attention to Valjean. "No alcohol, but plenty of cool water, tepid broth, bread-- anything you can get into him. Cold compresses as well." Jean nodded and dispatched the sister to comply with these demands. Trudeau looked again to the patient. "On palpation I find no fractures-- you seem to have a thick skull, Inspector-- but that does not eliminate the possibility of any internal damage. We'll watch that closely. Our main concern is to get you cooled down and re-hydrated. Have you been seeing things?"

Javert was reluctant to reply; he did not want to admit it, even to a doctor, but realized Jean must have already mentioned it.

"And feeling things." he nodded.

"Yes, I can imagine. I will see you get something for that, it will help you rest, in any event. And now I suggest we take off those wrappings and examine your injuries. Monsieur Valjean has no shortage of genuine and kindly concern for your health, but his medical skills would seem to be on par with those of a brick-layer."


	9. Chapter 9

Prince of Liars 9

Even in his present state, Javert's reason and sense had not completely left him. He found it curious that the doctor was calling Valjean by his actual name, not Monsieur Madeleine, or other alias. Was it true that the physician was aware of the convict's past? That everyone in this place had no regard for the law? Jean Valjean was a wanted man-- a criminal, despite his kindness shown an enemy, or anyone, for that matter. The law required that he be brought to justice, and yet he was treated with respect and regard befitting a dignitary. Perhaps Javert was not the one whose sanity was slipping; it appeared the whole world had gone mad.

It was with some difficulty the patient's wrappings were removed. Valjean loosened the restraints at the doctor's insistence, for the duration of the ministrations. The Inspector fell limp on the sheet, unable to take advantage of this temporary freedom and for the moment, unwilling. Jean sat on the opposite side of the bed, and placed Javert's newly freed arm over his shoulder. With tender care, he supported him into a sitting position while the doctor cleaned the wounds once again. The patient grimaced and winced to be lifted, gasped a few times and then settled his head weakly against the convict.

"I'm sorry." Valjean whispered again. Javert just shook his head in the negative, again confirming that apologies were unnecessary, or perhaps pointless.

"If I may intrude on this tender moment?" the doctor grumbled. "Please try to keep still."

The Inspector felt frustrated, angry at his own body for bringing him to this. He had always been stronger, always able to withstand the blows, whether from the rare weapon or fist, or more frequently, verbal abuse and the interference of superiors. Such opposition made him stronger, or so he had believed. Now he was diminished in every sense, humiliated and reduced to a dependency on others for survival. Worst of all, his most troublesome foe had become his most gracious savior. It would almost be preferable to go mad, and slip from unpleasant reality forever.

Trudeau was efficient, careful and even mechanical. The injuries were cleansed from the recent new flow of blood, examined for infection, again medicated with ointment, and each wound in turn padded with cotton. This done, a minor possible fracture was palpated in a rib. This prodding caused a louder gasp from the patient.

"I don't wonder that's painful." Trudeau sniffed with little concern. "The muscle is badly bruised, and if you've got a fracture, it's slight. Perhaps just a bruising of the bone, as well, but we'll bind you anyway. You've enough to think about without whining every time you take a breath.

"I don't whine." Javert mumbled into Valjean's hair.

"Sh." Jean warned him gently.

"What? Did I whine?"

It at least got the patient's mind off the pain. Once the injuries had been wrapped again, Trudeau produced a wide roll of linen, which was secured tightly around Javert's middle, with the help of the sister. When this was done, the patient was allowed once more to lie back down. With the tenderness of a lover, Valjean lowered him slowly. Javert nodded by way of thanks, and once more lay motionless. The blankets were drawn up with care, and it was with some effort that the Inspector found Jean's hand with his own, to give it a feeble pat.

"Such a good mother." he whispered with a faltering grin. Trudeau was busy writing some notes on a small piece of paper, not completely unaware of the fleeting moment that passed between these men.

There was a look of peaceful resignation in Javert's dark eyes, as if seeing Valjean from some other self. The convict smiled fondly, a twinkle in his own eye that may have been in fact a grateful tear. There was no mistaking the warmth and affection he held for his companion.

"You will take this to the apothecary in the morning." Trudeau interrupted the moment by handing the scribbled page to Valjean. "They will give you a dram that will help him rest and recover. And damn the court, for God's sake, Valjean-- leave him unshackled for as long as possible and don't cause him any more anxiety. His body and mind need to heal, at least see that he is comfortable in the process."

Javert's head turned slightly, as he attempted to offer his regards to Trudeau.

"Your attention is appreciated."

"Save the sentiment, Inspector, as I know it is in short enough supply. You would do better to show your appreciation by mending and getting back on your feet. Until then, my attention amounts to little. Good morning, gentlemen. My office will forward charges."

Trudeau donned his hat and coat and was seen to the door by the sister who had brought up a tray of food for the invalid. Valjean would resume his duties of the sickroom.

"Rather a charming bedside manner for a physician." Javert grumbled. "Quite suitable for police work, should he wish to change career."

Valjean was waiting with two additional plumped pillows.

"Do you think you might be able to sit up and eat?"

Javert nodded and tried to oblige, finding it necessary to rely on the convict's strong arm for support. The cushions were set in place and the patient was able to sit propped up. The tray was set before him and Jean pulled up a chair.

"What have we here?" the Inspector studied the repast. "Pitcher of milk, gruel, dry bread, and a peach? Your staff spares no luxury on my behalf."

"Enough, Javert." Jean's voice was stern but not unkind. "Your sarcasm is wasted on me."

"Pity. It was my last bastion of defense."

"Defense is unnecessary here." Valjean lifted a spoonful of gruel, and his guest wrinkled his nose at it.

"Just because I can't lift a spoon don't think I want help. It doesn't look like something I would--"

The convict seized the opportunity and stuck the spoon in Javert's open mouth. The look of surprise he received in return made him smile, and he was relieved that the patient swallowed rather then spit it out in protest.

"It's cold." came the complaint. "And bitter. Haven't you got--" A second spoonful was administered using the same tactic, and it received the same response, and was begrudgingly swallowed. "I'm not an infant---" The patient clamped his mouth closed tightly as a third spoonful advanced.

"Then don't behave like one." Jean advised. "You heard the doctor-- you need nourishment. He didn't say it had to be especially palatable."

"Yes, but it--"

Javert was foiled again. Confidently, Valjean prepared the fourth spoonful, and just as confidently, Javert refused to swallow the previous. A small trickle of gruel remained on the Inspector's lip. This was carefully wiped away with a linen napkin, but the patient's resolve remained firm.

"A little milk then." Jean set the spoon down, and lifted the cup. This forced the Inspector to swallow, in order to accept the offer. At least it would wash away the taste of his gruel.

"Not so terrible, is it?" Jean encouraged. "Suppose I add a few slices of peach?" He was already cutting small sections of fruit into the bowl of tasteless mush. Javert studied him through narrowed eyes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

His attendant could not hide his amusement.

"A lifelong dream." Jean chuckled. "Many was the day I would wake and imagine this exact scenario."

"Who's being sarcastic now?"

"I've learned from the best."

The patient finished his meal, slowly and with obvious reluctance. True, the peach sweetened the paste of gruel a bit, and the dry toast needed considerable swallows of milk to wash down, but finish it he did. He still managed to weakly voice opinions and complaints on the quality of the meal, or lack thereof. In the end, Valjean was as relieved as Javert to be done with it.

"Is it over?" the patient sighed and closed his eyes. "I don't dare look."

"Yes, and surprisingly, you've survived."

The tray was removed, and left at the door for the sisters to carry away. Meanwhile, the Inspector sat staring at his hands, limp and useless in his lap.

"I dread to think what happens when I have to piss." he mumbled.

"Ah, yes, well there are some things a man must see to, himself." Jean noted. "Now, would you like to lie back down?"

Javert shook his head. Somehow the pain was not as bad in this position, and he was confident he could sleep this way if need be.

"Shall I get you the day's paper?"

Odd thought. Javert had not even considered there was a world of news beyond this room. Would his court appearance be announced in it? No matter; he had little stomach for any evidence of a twisted world. He shook his head weakly.

"I don't think I could even read." he admitted. "And I don't feel much like sleep…."

"Very well, then." Jean had retreated to his desk and retrieved a small volume of history that was lying there. "Perhaps I could read to you?"

"It isn't a romance, is it?"

"No. It is a German account of the late war in the Americas."

"Light diversion." Javert looked wearily in his companion's direction. "Very well, then. If you must."


	10. Chapter 10

Prince of Liars 10

And so Valjean read.

It was not an entirely dry and academic text, being an old soldier's personal account of the American Rebellion, peppered here and there with comments about the people and countryside encountered. Javert listened passively, gazing at the foot of his bed through eyes with heavy lids. The convict's voice, in tone and pace, was not at all unpleasant. Not the sort of song one would expect from a crow, he thought-- gruff, rasping croaks would seem more fitting for a man who had spent life in prison and on the run. Instead there was an almost genteel quality to the words, somehow more suited to a man of breeding and education. Perhaps Javert would need to re-evaluate his notions of criminals and their behavior-- unless of course Valjean was merely better skilled in deception than previously considered.

"Inspector?" the inquiry drew Javert's full attention again.

"Yes?"

"I asked if I should continue."

"Of course." Javert hadn't heard the question, lost in his own thoughts and perhaps lulled by the pleasant tone. "Unless you are tired?"

"Not at all."

A soft smile came briefly to Valjean's lips, unnoticed by the patient. It was strangely comforting to be sitting there, sharing an almost brotherly moment of domesticity. If Javert had not been so injured and incapacitated, such would have been inconceivable. He resumed the recitation, satisfied that their differences had been set aside due to circumstance. The Inspector continued to gaze off without focus, grateful that he was not for the time being harassed by delusions and visions.

The reader was now describing, through the author's experience, certain lush farmlands and the new fertile earth of the former colonies, that seemed to him like a paradise. It was remarked that the whole countryside seemed like an endless garden, and Javert wrinkled his brow as he tried to envision such a place, this America. A place where war had raged, and where no man would go hungry; as much a paradox as man himself.

"We are creatures of endless possibility." The whisper escaped him before he realized it. Valjean stopped reading.

"Inspector?" he asked again.

"Just a thought." Javert rolled his head on the pillow, to face his associate. "How we mortals are full of potential."

A curious statement coming from so strictly bound an imagination. It almost seemed something Valjean would have said, regarding man's connection to the Divine.

"We are that." Jean agreed.

"There is something I have been meaning to ask." The book was closed in preparation for conversation, as Javert diverted his eyes again. "What is this thing, this trial that I am being subjected to?"

Valjean studied the man stretched out on the bed, tucked under blankets and wrapped in bandages. His reply was hushed and almost reverent.

"I'm afraid I don't know."

He was distracted by the morning light as it poured through the panes, illuminating the bed with an almost heavenly glow. The bright light and pale bedcovers created the illusion of an aura around the stark contrast of Javert's black hair. As the patient was not aware of the indiscreet stare, Valjean would not look away. This man who had once reviled him, and had in turn been an object of hate, had been miraculously delivered into his care. The Inspector's wounds were not the only things that needed healing.

There stirred with Valjean the desire to smooth all troubles, straighten all roads and remove all pain from the life of Inspector Javert. The mysterious bond between them had been none of Jean's forging, but he would hold to it tenaciously nonetheless.

The patient had merely nodded slightly at the convict's reply and paused before speaking again.

"Yet you were there." Javert observed. "You-- and countless others--- were there for no other cause than my being there. Surely, there must have been some reason. And then you stepped forward to defend me." He turned his head again, and the convict was forced to look away. "From what?"

"Please. You need to rest. You mustn't trouble yourself about such things now."

"Then when? Be assured, Valjean, if I were not to mention these things for the sake of your comfort, they would still be present in my mind. I thought I would at least provide you with the opportunity to answer."

"As to the charges--" Jean began to pace the room slowly as he spoke. Javert smirked, as it looked like the courtroom diversion of a barrister. "I know only what was discussed in court. There are a multitude of charges against you, brought about by those present, for grievous wrongs done against them in the name of the law."

"That is too ridiculous to comprehend." the Inspector grumbled. "Such thinking is completely backward. They have brought about their own ruin, and that of their…. families ."

"And so a man is fully responsible for the evil that befalls him?"

"Certainly,"

"This includes all men?"

"Of course."

"Then it is by your own law, your own responsibility, you are accused."

Javert frowned. Despite the illogical example, the premise was sound. He could only hope Valjean was clever enough in turning a phrase to likewise entrap the court.

"Is this to be your method of defense, then? Accusation of me?"

"The accusations have already been made. The argument remains, whether or not you should be subject to punishment for crimes committed in the name of your law."

"It is not my law." Javert's tone was calm and steady, and chilling as a result. "It is the law of all men. Each one is subject to its order. Obedience is required, not optional. Stray from the letter in the smallest step, and you might as well be guilty of all." As always, he stated this opinion in the staunch and unwavering belief that his was the only-- and ultimate-- truth.

"Which is the precise thing that has brought you before the judges." Jean presented his side with patience and care. "Your duty gives no room for charity, understanding, pardon---"

"That is the business of the church."

Valjean shook his head, thick locks of hair shifting softly with the motion.

"The church is merely an instrument---"

"Under the direction of the Supreme?" It was that same stale debate as always. "I certainly hope you have a better plan of attack for trial."

Again, the convict shook his head, this time not so much in disagreement as in frustration. Why could Javert not see the greater Law above all others? But wasn't that cause behind all of the present calamity? A blindness to the whole truth and single-minded vision to but a small part had caused a frightening reality to rush in with force. Little wonder he had been seeing things.

"I have promised to defend you against overwhelming evidence." Valjean assured.

"There is no evidence--"

"Let me finish, please. Whether or not you believe there exists any evidence, the fact remains there are a number of people who claim just the opposite."

"Their insanity-- or ignorance-- isn't my--"

"Please!"

Javert was silenced, and once more staring at the foot of his bed.

"None of that is the point, Inspector." Jean's words became more forceful. "You have been called to answer for certain things, and your denial of those things does not change the fact that you were called. Any defense must be made on those grounds and rules that the court decides. One does not survive in a foreign country unless one speaks the language."

There was enough of a pause to convince Javert that the convict had concluded his speech. Only after another moment did he finally speak.

"I see. And by this thinking, if I am to deal with fools, I must become a fool, myself?"

Valjean gave a heavy sigh, and realized it was futile to continue in this fashion. He might lose his temper, or say something to regret if this was to be prolonged. Javert was so firmly set in his ways there would be no swaying him. It would perhaps be better to put space between them for the time being.

"I must see to that dram the doctor prescribed for you."

Javert looked toward the door, in time to see it close in the convict's wake. He gripped the sheets with the realization that he was indeed in a foreign land, and did not want to be left there, alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Prince of Liars 11

Valjean descended the stairs, overwhelmed with a sense of foolishness. Perhaps he had been mistaken. It appeared nothing had changed over the years, excepting that Javert was now the prisoner--- but it was Valjean who was still running away.

It was a small matter to have one of the sisters send a boy to the apothecary, and he handed over the doctor's order to this end.

"The patient is sleeping?" the woman asked. Valjean afforded her a gentle smile.

"He is resting for the moment. I will be in the library. Please inform me as soon as the boy returns."

"Very good, monsieur."

Soon there after, Jean Valjean had closed himself into the privacy of his library. Here he would take a moment's pause and time alone to think about what he was doing, and planned to do. He had not questioned the state of things until now, and it was more than he cared to consider.

Throughout Jean's life it seemed Javert was always there, if not personally, then in thought, evidence, and design. The convict could still recall the shadows of his youth-- growing up, learning his father's trade, followed too soon by the tragedies that befall all families. He could also recall, too clearly, the misstep taken that put him afoul of the law-- and ultimately, into the path of Javert. In desperation, he had been driven to steal, in order to feed a family. Instead, by this deed they were all lost. In this much the Inspector's observations had been right.

The sunlight coursed in through the windows when Valjean drew back the drapes. It displaced bitter memories with the promise of tomorrow. He would confront the charges facing Javert as one who had suffered at his hand as much as any man; indeed, perhaps more so. And if one so greatly wronged, for so lengthy a time, could speak of mercy for this mutual foe, would not the rest be forced to listen and perhaps agree?

Or was he touched by something stronger-- something deeper--- than mere justice, mercy, and the laws of the Eternal? How was it he had come to love the man Javert, if not by the grace of God?

The sun warmed his face, and for a moment Valjean was drawn to the sights and sounds of the world outside. Life went on as always, mankind granted another day to pursue its labors and its rewards. It should be enough for him to see the industry of others, the families, the joys from his window. Yet, he was not a young man and had no wife, nor family to show for all his years. With Cossette grown with a life of her own, there was no one to come home to in the evenings, no meals or fires waiting except those prepared by hands hired and paid for the service. He had not reflected on such personal emptiness before, as there was never time. He had always felt it would not have been fair to subject a spouse or family to the lot he had drawn, to be uprooted and in hiding because of the tireless efforts of the Law. In considering this, he realized that his world and life had not been so lonely nor desolate when compared to that of Inspector Javert.

There was a clock ticking, somewhere in the room. Javert had not heard it before, but it seemed especially loud in Valjean's absence. Fatigue had left his body passive, unable to do more than lie there and heal. It also left his mind stirring lazily, reaching for thoughts and ideas but lacking the strength to hold them. Still, he was unwilling to surrender to sleep and continued to stare at the end of the bed, and the rise in the coverlets where his feet lay beneath.

The manacles, black, heavy and cruel, that had bound his ankle like an anchor, now lay as limp and lifeless as their charge. No amount of daylight could warm it, or make it look any less vile. It was an insult of the highest order, that such rough guardians as these had been used on him. These were the trappings worn by villains and criminals, not an Inspector of Police.

He grew angry at the sight of the thing--- a glaring inconsistency in a room of presumed comfort and safety. He might have believed, in a moment's fancy, that he was a guest or lodger in a house, when duty called him from the city. He might have been there of his own accord, partaking hospitality for whatever time or in whatever capacity he decided. But for the cold iron chains still dangling from either end of his bed, he might have believed himself a free man in neutral-- if not friendly-- surroundings. These anomalies reminded him of the absurd impossibility of the situation; he was in fact a prisoner in hospital, with the insanity of a trial awaiting when he was well again.

"Madness." he whispered. "It is all madness. All illusion. The black smoke devil, the girl, the jail---" Somehow, there was a perverted humor to it all; he had been fearful of losing his mind at the appearance of his hallucinated 'visitors', in a world which could not itself exist at all, if he hadn't already gone mad. When would he finally wake, unmarked and alone in his own bed?

"Close your eyes."

It was the feminine voice of his recent visitor. She was not there, even when he widened his gaze to glance feebly around the room. He was still alone.

"Javert." The whisper sounded almost tender, gently imploring, "You must sleep."

He could not, of course, as he dreaded the return of that other-- darker-- thing.

"You need not fear." The voice sensed his thoughts-- and why not, he reasoned, as it was only a product of his desperate and disordered mind. "The other will not come if I am here."

"Where?" the word escaped quietly on a breath.

"Sleep, Javert. Empty your mind of troublesome thoughts. Be at peace for awhile. Not everything in your life is a battle."

Wasn't it? Had that not always been the case? And what should be any different now, especially as his body bore the recent evidence? He would have liked to argue with this 'voice'-- this 'creature' who was not to be seen. It would have been a diversion, something on which to focus attention, though it made perhaps as much sense as talking to the bedstead.

"Sleep." the voice repeated.

A curious sensation came to him gradually. His limbs, which he thought had been at rest, seemed to lose tension. Even in weakness and debilitation, they had been rigid, 'unyielding' -- until now. It was as if he were a torn sack of grain, and little by little he was draining out. Muscles, normally stiff and as tightly wound as the spring of a clock, lost the hardness and with this, feelings of discomfort. The feather ticking embraced him, and for once he did not fight.

Was he dying?

"Sleep." The whisper was hushed and distant, but no less kind. Javert closed his eyes and passed as softly as a feather on the air into a welcomed sleep. He would in fact dream, but it would be such as he had never known.

"Monsieur?"

The sister's voice prompted Valjean to turn from the window. The boy could not have been back so soon.

"Yes? What is it?"

"There is a man here to see you. An officer of the court."

Jean nodded wordlessly, as if he'd been expecting a caller at all, let alone at such an early hour.

"Very well. Send him in."

A few more moments were spared to gaze on the morning streets. When he next heard the door, he at last turned away to greet his visitor.

"Good morning, monsieur." the caller nodded. "I am Voureau, sent by the court."

The fellow was of medium height, dressed in dark somber browns, with a balding pate, and uneven yellowed teeth. Valjean smiled and gestured for him to take a seat. The offer was immediately accepted and Jean himself took his place at the desk, opposite.

"I hope I do not inconvenience you." the man continued. It was now noticed that he carried a leather portfolio.

"Not at all, monsieur." Jean excused politely. "How may I help you?"

"You have in your care the prisoner, citizen Javert?" It seemed under the circumstances like a foolish thing to ask, considering there would be no other reason for the visit.

"Yes. The doctor has been to see him, and he is for the moment resting comfortably."

The guest screwed his thin lips into a terse frown. Apparently, the prisoner's comfort was not his concern.

"And it is our understanding that you intend to defend him against the numerous charges faced, once he is well enough to stand trial?"

"Of course." Valjean confirmed. "He has been released to my care---"

"Yes, yes, it's a matter of record." The fellow, short of patience, pulled a few papers from his folder and slipped on a pair of spectacles in order to read. "You will see to his medical care and recovery, and are required to keep him restrained and under guard." He looked up from his page with a bemused expression altering his unpleasant features almost comically. "But he is not here, in your presence."

"No, of course not. He's in bed, upstairs."

"Then more to the point, you are not there." The visitor seemed strangely pleased to have made some obscure point, known only to himself.

"Monsieur?" Jean shook his head in hope of an explanation. Voureau removed his glasses, and folded them back into his pocket with a smirk of satisfaction.

"I have come to see that you are in fact abiding by your agreement with the court. Have you instead a guard posted in his room?"

"Certainly not." Valjean was not pleased with the inference. "The patient is incapacitated by his injuries. He has had a fever and is too weak even to feed himself. Prior to the doctor's orders on attendance, he was secured by chains to the bed frame. I can assure you, monsieur, Inspector Javert---"

"_Citizen_ Javert."

"The man Javert is in no condition to attempt escape."

"Well." Voureau replaced the paperwork into his portfolio, and rested his hands in his lap. "Well." he repeated. "I am afraid that will not do. Your word and reputation may be sufficient reference to have him released to your care for some officials-- but as an officer of the court, I am required to make such assessments for myself. I will need to inspect the room and decide whether or not the prisoner's confinement---"

"This is absurd."

"Whether or not the prisoner's confinement---" It was repeated loudly now, warning against further interruption. "- meets with the agreed stipulations. If it is found lacking, I have the authority as appointed representative of the court. to remove him. Or, in the very least, have guards posted for the purpose of--"

"No." Valjean was firm in his refusal. "You will not move him from this house. His condition does not permit it-- and I do not permit it."

"Then I suggest you show me to his quarters immediately." Voureau was just as firm in his insistence. "Any reluctance on your part to comply will be deemed hostile against the court and I will personally see you and your patient are--"

"Monsieur Voureau." Jean finally sighed, allowing himself a slight grin. "I am sure the Inspector-- the patient-- would be quite pleased with your thorough attention to duty." He rose from his chair, but motioned his guest to remain seated. "I have every intention of complying with your demands in one moment. Excuse me."

Valjean went to the door, and called for the nurse. He spoke in hushed tones to her, partially closing the door between himself and the curious Voureau.

"I have an urgent request." he whispered to the woman. "You must go to the patient, and replace his restraints."

"Monsieur?"

"You needn't lock them, just replace them on his ankle and wrist-- he should not resist, but if he does, explain it is only temporary. If he is not found restrained, he will be removed by the court. Now hurry!"

The convict disappeared back into the library, leaving the woman a bit perplexed. Still, she was not the shy blushing sort, and could follow orders, even if the man in question managed to object. She trotted quickly up the stairs to see to it at once.

"What was that about?" Voureau looked accusingly at his host.

"A simple matter of courtesy." Valjean explained. "Sometimes, in his delirium, the patient kicks free of his blankets. I have asked the sister to see that modesty and dignity are observed-- to straighten his bedclothes and ascertain whether or not he is asleep. If he is, I must insist that you do nothing to wake him. Have I your word?"

Voureau grimaced, and rose to his feet.

"He is a prisoner, monsieur-- not a holy relic. I don't care whether he's sleeping or not-- I have my job to do."

"And I have mine." Jean assured. "I will not have him disturbed, is that understood?"

The tone of voice carried a veiled warning to the official; Valjean was of considerable physical strength, evidenced even through fashionable and gentlemanly attire. Though no actual threat was made, Voureau understood he would stand little chance against this man if his ire was truly up. The power of his office could only go so far to insure his safety, and he decided it would be wise to agree for the time being


	12. Chapter 12

Prince of Liars 12

_You will come with me, quickly. There isn't much time._

It was the feminine voice again, still illusive of source. Below, Javert saw himself, sprawled like a corpse laid for a wake in bed.

_I am dead?_

_You seem rather obsessed with the thought, but no. you sleep._

_And this is a dream?_

_Must you require an explanation for everything?_

_Yes._

In this instance, he did not get one. Instead, Javert found himself in a bright green place. There was the feeling of the robed figure by his side-- or where his side would be if corporal. Instead, he was observing a countryside much like the one he imagined described in Valjean's reading.

_What do you see, Inspector?_

_The country, in spring?_ _I don't know this place._

_You should. You have forgotten. Look there._

Across the patch of green meadow where cattle grazed, a boy walked along the wood line. His head was crowned with a thatch of thick black hair, framing a hopeful young face untroubled by what might seem to be dirty and disheveled clothing. His limbs were long and he was as gangly as a colt. Some spark of recognition warmed Javert's thoughts, with the remembered sensation of grass, cool and thick under bare feet. The child raised slender fingers and stroked the brown muzzle of a curious cow. A forgotten comfort, that soft velvety feeling and a snort of warm breath against a youthful palm. The sun was warmer there, far across a lifetime. The child's dark, wondering eyes looked up suddenly as a pair of small birds swooped and dived, to circle away into the trees. Without a care, this innocent creature of nature waved his arms and ran along the hillside, to be lost in view beyond a hedge.

_Why have you brought me here?_

_I didn't bring you. You brought me._ The voice was not accusing, and as pleasant and tender as always. He might have chose to argue, but the peace of such a place seemed to forbid any challenge.

_It is only a place. _He offered the shallow observation. _Brief, at best. A calm moment among anxious years. It means nothing._

_And it means everything. But quickly, we must return._

The speaker was gone, and the light began to fade. It was too late to tell her that he did not want to go back.

Someone was tugging his arm-- instinctively he pulled against this with as much strength as he could muster.

"Monsieur! Please!"

It was the insistent whisper of a nurse that forced Javert awake. He did not notice the manacle at the foot board had been replaced on his ankle-- only that the woman was trying to lock his wrist in a metal cuff again.

"Monsieur!" she urged. "There is a man downstairs, who is from the court. M. Valjean will be arrested, and you will be taken away, if the fellow does not find you restrained!"

Impossible! Absurd! No court on earth had the right to demand he be subjected to such humiliation and abuse. And Valjean, arrested? That was the only thing that made sense. There were voices outside, and footsteps advancing up the stairs. The nurse was pleading, and still Javert resisted. A moment later, and the door opened. Valjean's figure filled the space, worry creasing his brow. Yet this was immediately dispelled, in light of what next occurred. Suddenly, in an uncharacteristic gesture of submission, Javert ceased refusal and offered his wrist freely to the woman. She closed the iron band around it and quickly set about smoothing the covers.

By the time Voureau stepped into the room, the patient was docile prisoner once more.

"Is he asleep?" Valjean asked the woman, fully playing his role.

"No longer." Javert's voice softly replied. He rolled his head to one side, to see the new arrivals. "Who is this?"

"I am an officer of the court." Voureau announced firmly. "I am here to ascertain the conditions of your confinement."

"Confinement?" A humorous choice of words, the prisoner sniffed. "I must have missed something. Am I with child?"

The nurse toddled off with a muffled exclamation of surprise, while Jean hid his smile. It would be a pleasure to see someone else the target of the Inspector's 'wit' for a change.

"Don't be impertinent." Voureau warned him, as he fumbled for a paper in his folder. "And I will thank you to keep silent. M. Valjean will answer all inquiries."

"Of course." Javert would not be deprived. While he normally had but the greatest regard for authority, he would not recognize any official of a court that stood so blatantly in opposition to the law. Voureau scowled, produced a pencil and began ticking off notes on his page.

"The nature of the injuries?" he shot off to Valjean.

"Multiple lacerations, and slashes from caning, and additional bruising as a result of being beaten." Jean replied with eyes lowered. It struck Javert as a point of interest-- perhaps even amusing-- that merely recounting this was uncomfortable for the man. "The doctor also found a possible fracture of the ribs, moderate blood loss and advent of a fever."

Voureau nodded and made his notations.

"And that's not even mentioning the quality of the food I've been forced to endure." Javert observed.

"Silence, you!"

"And the rude visitors."

"As you can see--" Jean stepped in to mediate. "He is in fact restrained by irons. Hand and foot."

"Yes-- ONE hand, and ONE foot." Voureau grumbled.

"Under the circumstances, you'll find they are more than sufficient."

Javert was already preparing to add his own observation, when Voureau reached down suddenly and threw back the bed covers. The patient jerked violently surprise, pulling up his free leg in an attempt to cover his nakedness. Valjean was outraged at the affront, hurrying to replace the blankets for modesty's sake.

"Monsieur! I will not tolerate such conduct from any man, court representative or not!" Jean growled. "What do you think you're doing?"

Voureau smirked, having made his point. There would be no courtesy afforded this person; the action was solely meant to demonstrate his authority. It would shut the prisoner up, perhaps, for a few moments.

"I was afraid you might have him draped in silks and satin." He snapped his portfolio shut with a gesture of finality. "It appears you have been treating him like a prince. I'm glad at least to find you haven't wasted a nightshirt on him."

Javert regained his calm façade, though seething at the insult.

"I trust you've found everything to your liking, monsieur." The insinuation was clear. "Unless your thorough reporting requires a closer look?"

"How dare you!" Voureau frowned. "If you were my prisoner, I would have you gagged!"

"I'm sure you would." Javert coolly afforded a slight nod to further this point. Valjean had to turn his face away, or risk adding insult to Voureau's pride. "But if there is nothing more? I would like to get back to sleep."

"One moment, you! I decide when the audience is at an end." The irate visitor was about to cross the final line. He leaned forward for emphasis and began poking Javert's bandages stiffly with his pencil to punctuate nearly every word. "And I am not as yet satisfied! I demand to have a look at these injuries, monsieur."

Jean did not see this attack begin, as he had been looking away. Now Javert's groans and gasps drew his full attention. As soon as he realized what was happening, he stepped forward and seized Voureau's arm, with force enough to cause the man to cry out in fear and pain.

"Enough!" Jean ordered. "You will get out, monsieur, or I will report you to your superiors! This is inexcusable!"

He kept firm hold on the man for a few seconds longer, causing him to wince and groan. When Jean released him, Voureau darted away to nurse his wounds.

"So! This is how it is, then!" the man spat indignantly. "You attack the court in assaulting me! And you cast your lot in with this felon rather than afford me the respect due my office. You are no different than your charge, monsieur, and should be locked up as well."

"I would like to see that." Javert mumbled as he caught his breath. "But better than you have tried…"

"And don't you speak to me!" Voureau glared at the prisoner. It was as if he feared some contamination through conversation. He would not keep his eyes from the threatening Valjean for long. "I will make my report, monsieur, with my reccommendation that this creature be removed to accommodations more fitting an enemy of the people."

"On what grounds?" Jean stepped toward the man angrily, causing Voureau to jump away just as quickly in fear. "I am fulfilling my agreement with the court."

"Yes, a little too fondly if you ask me!"

"Which no one has." Javert added.

"I see what is happening here. You intend on aiding this person! Seeing he is well and assisting his escape. Who is he to you? Your friend? A brother?"

"M. Valjean suffers the delusion of thinking all men are brothers." Javert would not let pass an opportunity to make comment. "With the possible exception of certain officers of the court…."

"M. Voureau, I must ask you to leave." Jean drew a breath and spoke with as much calm deliberation as he could. "I welcome further investigation by members of your esteemed court, and would prefer not to go to your superiors, concerning your momentarily lapse of control." He would much rather crack the fellow's head like an egg for what he had done, above and beyond the business of the court. Voureau's arm still ached, and his pride had been injured as well. But if his 'momentary lapse' became known to the wrong 'superiors' he would face far worse than Valjean's threat.

"I shall take that under consideration." Voureau huffed, as he turned for the door. "Good day!"

Valjean stepped after him into the hall, and did not return to Javert's bedside until he was certain the sisters had shown the man out.

"I wish it was possible to apologize for the behavior of others." the convict sighed, once more standing over his charge.

"You have already made a career of apologies." Javert smirked. "Taking on the ill-manners of the world would leave you no time to tend your patient. Or anything else."

"Nonetheless, I am sorry the brute had the opportunity-- are you alright?"

Javert nodded and narrowed his eyes.

"You have rescued me again. But I'm curious, is there any truth to the rest?"

"What do you mean?"

"That you intend to aid in my escape when I am well?"

Valjean smiled, aware of the intended joke.

"That is not my agreement with the court."

"Ah yes. The court. I am to be further victimized by its contempt,

and your defense."

"Please, let us not start on that again."

"No." The patient looked away now, lost in his thoughts. "I suppose I ought to be grateful for what you've done on my behalf."

The words surprised Valjean. Was Inspector Javert expressing gratitude?

"Only if you feel that I have truly acted with your well being in mind."

Of course, the prisoner could not resist.

"I am inclined to agree to anything at this point, if it will improve my chances of a decent meal in the future."


	13. Chapter 13

Prince of Liars 13

With the annoying and intrusive Voureau expelled from the house, matters could return to normal-- if 'normal' might exist under the circumstances. The boy had yet to return from the chemists, and Javert decided he was not especially interested in sleep again just yet. Valjean was all attention, ready to supply his prisoner-guest with whatever diversion he might suggest-- short of escape. It came as a bit of a surprise to Javert, that his host once more loosened the restraints.

"Are you not afraid I will bolt, at my first opportunity?" came the inevitable inquiry.

"You're hardly in a condition to sit up without support." Jean nodded toward the pile of pillows still propped in place. "Making a break for freedom seems unlikely."

"Especially without trousers. Clever of you."

"I may even find a nightshirt."

"Would you care to stay ? I feel I would like to talk."

"You ought to be resting."

"I will. But for now, I am more curious than tired."

Valjean drew up a chair and sat at the bedside, willing to converse-- or at least listen-- until the medicine arrived.

"I cannot deny my confusion." Javert shook his head slightly. "I know I have been beaten. I have the marks, and all the trappings of pain and treatment as evidence. I know I am facing the ridiculous sham of a trial, ordered by lunatics and criminals-- I even know that you, Jean Valjean, convicted thief, and the bane of my existence for too many years, have taken it upon yourself to defend me, see to my care and recovery. I admit to these things, but for all of it, know of no reason why any of it should be the case."

"Inspector, you will find nothing but anger and frustration in looking for explanations that do not exist."

"But they must. Everything has an explanation, a purpose-- some factor or series of factors that have brought things about. Every moment of life is the result of another."

"Is it not possible that there are greater forces, of which we are unaware, setting things in motion?"

The patient smirked and shook his head again.

"Now you ask too much of reason. I am a practical man. I do not believe in ghosts and angels….." His words dropped off, remembering his mysterious visitor.

"You believe in only those things you see?"

"On the contrary, I have seen things lately which I cannot believe."

"Such as your trial?"

"And your inexcusable kindness. No, I refer to those creatures--hallucinations I thought."

"Of course, that is certainly what they are."

"How can you be sure? They are, in the moments they are present, just as real to me as you are now."

"Isn't that the nature of hallucination?"

"Then what is life -- or reality, for that matter-- than a mutually agreed upon and accepted illusion?"

Valjean stifled a chuckle behind his hand.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Not you, no. But it seems to me you have the makings of a philosopher, Javert."

"Spare me your incidental observations, will you? We are what we are. And I am an Inspector of Police."

"You are also a victim, a prisoner, and my……guest."

"Thank God. I thought for a moment you were about to say 'friend'."

Valjean grinned. The idea had occurred to him, to use that particular term-- but knowing Javert perhaps better than anyone else alive, he also knew the response such an 'assumption' would get. It was somewhat oddly reassuring that despite everything he had endured, Inspector Javert seemed much the same man as he'd always been.

"Have you ink and paper?"

"Yes, of course." Jean nodded. "Are you able to write?"

Javert gazed at his hands, moving them slightly to demonstrate his condition.

"Not with alacrity. But I believe you can."

Valjean was on his feet, dutifully getting the items requested and moving the chair a second time, so the inkpot could rest within easy reach on the side table. He did these things without question, as simply as a manservant goes about his tasks; the Inspector had not made a formal request, or even a demand, that the convict should take dictation, but Valjean obeyed. Javert watched him strangely, almost amused that quite possibly his authority did indeed amount to something even now. It was likewise considered that his host set about this work because he wanted to-- because, despite the patient's reluctance to accept the notion, he did in fact regard the Inspector as a friend.

Once Valjean had taken his seat again, with a lap desk balanced on his knees, he waited patiently for the patient's first words. Javert looked away to some airy spot beyond the bed, and drew a tenuous breath.

"As I do not expect to recover---"

"What are you saying?" Jean questioned, refusing to record these words to paper.

"I do not require an editor, monsieur." Javert warned him. "You will take down what I am about to say, as I say it." With some hesitation, Valjean scrawled the omitted sentence. "Better. As I do not expect to recover, and have no logical explanation for the curious events plaguing my mental condition, I am resolved to set to paper what is happening as I have experienced it." The pen continued to scratch its way across the page. "Correction-- set to paper with the assistance of M. Jean Valjean--." His chronicler felt a certain satisfaction to have been mentioned at all, let alone as 'monsieur' and not 'the convict'. The patient waited until the sound of writing stopped, before he continued.

"I find myself, for want of a better definition, trapped in a place which is grossly at odds with accepted reality, or more exactly, the reality within which I have always existed. Whether or not this is an indication or onset of decreased mental competence I am obviously in no position to say. However, those people with whom I am forced to interact, and the actions and business of these people, operating as a whole, are completely at odds with sense and understanding." He paused from time to time, allowing the scribbler to catch up with his thoughts.

"Paragraph. As such, I suspect I am….." the words caught in his throat for a moment. "..suspect I am losing my mind and, while still in command of my reason, offer this document in support of same, should I lack the ability to do so in the future. That I was detained, incarcerated, and physically abused can be attested to by M. Valjean." The writer felt as awkward as Javert, hearing his name again regarded with the respectful 'Monsieur'. "I suspect he will make written note of the aforementioned factors at some point, if he has not already done so in his private diaries. I am at present, slightly more comfortably 'incarcerated' in the home of Monsieur V., who has elected to see to my legal defense as well as medical care." The silence continued a moment longer after the pen fell silent. "Should I in fact lose all rational and functional acuity, I should like to state here for the record that my host has been most patient, kind and attentive. He has been more or less saddled with an unpleasant situation and has taken it up with great care and indeed some affection for no other purpose……no other purpose…" Javert had difficulty finding the words. He was not a man easily moved by sentimentality, nor for that matter any of the more gentle emotions. As he spoke, he was moved that Valjean seemed to have no motivation other than to show charity toward the last person in his life who deserved it. He cleared his throat and continued, "For no other purpose but genuine concern for a fellow human being. Someone who could in no way be considered…"

Valjean sighed. If Javert's armor of cold, hard indifference could not be penetrated from within, the convict would offer him a way out. He reread the last line in part.

"For no other purpose but genuine concern for a fellow human being, who he has come to regard as a friend."

"Must you?" Javert grimaced.

"Yes."

"Very well, then." the Inspector sighed. He was relieved to be excused from having to make the observation aloud himself. Valjean smiled; it was as good as the man's own admission that some bond between them did exist, beyond the rule of Law. "You may note that last line as read." The patient raised his eyes to the ceiling, preferring to ignore the previous revelation.

"Next paragraph." he prompted. "I can state that prior to my introduction into the present spate of circumstances, I was on duty, intending to apprehend a fugitive. It was at this point I encountered what I must recount as being my first illusionary ---- what is the better word? Creature? Monster?"

"You suffered what you believe to be your first instance of hallucination."

"Acceptable."

Javert stopped dictation at that point. His gaze remained focused, past the bedstead, and this silence drew his secretary's eye. Staring off into space, the patient's lips still moved as if whispering.

"Inspector?"

"Yes."

"You are tired. Perhaps we should leave off for now?"

"No." There was a slight urgency in his tone, and the patient now redirected his eyes toward his companion. "There isn't time. I must finish. The last line?"

"….suffered what I believe to be my first instance of hallucination."

Javert nodded but still did not speak. For a curious, silent moment, the pair held each other's attention, each locked on the other's gaze. When the Inspector resumed, it was on a topic not to be considered part of the dictation.


	14. Chapter 14

Prince of Liars 14

"I have always held that the measure of a man might be found in his eyes." Javert looked away and eased his head back into the pillows. "I know it is something poets are apt to say, but in my work, I have found it quite reliable. They betray a man's true self, and even his thoughts."

Valjean was moderately amused by this unexpected topic, and was happy for the diversion. It was a good deal better than the morose copy he had been writing up until now.

"Now you're sounding like a poet, yourself."

"A necessary embarrassment for the moment. Rather odd, though, that I see nothing in your eyes of a felon, no matter how hard I try."

"A good thing for me. Then what do you see?"

His guest could not refrain from smirking.

"A fool, perhaps? A man who is drunk with the milk of human kindness? There is no hint of guile there, which is rather disturbing to me, but a warmth and kindness. A heaviness, too, brought about by worry. You have not been fortunate in this life, Valjean, and you haven't the sense to know it. There is the same spark in your eyes as one sees in paintings of saints and religious zealots…..and found also in lunatics."

There was a gentle knock at the bedroom door, drawing the convict's attention.

"Yes, come in."

It was one of the sisters, carrying a small brown paper package.

"The boy has returned with the medicine, monsieur. And a note from the chemist."

She presented the item, was thanked, and then left as she had come, closing the door again behind her.

"The doctor's remedy." Valjean quipped to his patient in explanation. Javert showed little interest. He nodded without even looking in the fellow's direction.

Anxious to follow instructions, Valjean unwrapped the package, studied the vial and then glanced briefly at the directions that had been enclosed. It was a brief warning that patients often experienced odd effects from the administration of this particular drug, and that it should be given but a few drops at a time mixed in water. It was not to be considered grossly harmful or in any way lethal, but sometimes encouraged behavior of an uncharacteristic nature. Thusly advised, Valjean set about preparing the Inspector's first dose.

"What is this?"

Javert looked at the water glass as it was presented.

"Your medicine needs to be mixed in water. Drink it down and we can get back to business if you still want to dictate. Or philosophize?"

Javert attempted to take the glass, but failed miserably in controlling his grasp. Fortunately, Jean had not relinquished it completely and was able to keep it from spilling. Dutifully, the patient leaned his head forward, and permitted Valjean to serve.

"Enough." Javert sighed. "I should like to rest. If you can remove this mountain of cushions?"

Once again, the convict was glad to oblige. He supported Javert with one arm and finally lowered him to rest on a bed more level and comfortable for sleep. Javert afforded his host a glance, betraying some small amount of gratitude he was otherwise reluctant to convey. As he had observed earlier, certain things were disclosed- often without intent- in a man's eyes. Valjean stood over the bed, with a slight and gentle smile.

"I will leave you to rest, then."

"Where are you going?" The words held some concern, perhaps even a hint of urgency. Javert had not forgotten his phantoms, and privately wondered if the dram he had just consumed would leave him prey to their whim.

"I will just be at my desk." Jean nodded. "If you grow restless or perhaps show some…..distress, I will be at hand."

A single, barely visible nod was the only response. Javert turned his face away, closed his eyes and for the moment tried to find some solace in dreamless sleep. _How has it come to this, that I am dependent on this of all men for my well being?_

_Do you truly wish to know?_

The feminine voice again and he had barely closed his eyes.

_You again. _If thoughts could frown, it would be the case now. _Leave me alone, can't you? I don't particularly care to share my sleep with anyone, if you don't mind. Unless-_

_Yes?_

Unless what? Javert was not especially fond of having his thoughts invaded, either. To Valjean's careful eye, the patient was resting comfortably, already in the peaceful embrace of the medication. The convict turned quietly away to his desk as promised. Javert's body relaxed into the feather bedding, and without realizing it, he surrendered his usual sense of caution to the influence of the drug.

Unless? What?

_Unless you take me back._

Whatever spirit, angel or thing it was that had recently befriended him, it knew this desire before the Inspector had known it himself. Somewhere, shapeless in the mist of half-dream, it smiled. Slowly, a recognized place formed before Javert's sleeping eyes; the green hillside and blue sky of his youth.

_I told you, it wasn't my doing. You were the one who led us here._

_Don't be ridiculous. Why would I-_

_Very well, then. _The pleasant scene began to melt like frost.

_No! Don't! _It resumed its shape once more. He sighed with relief. _Thank you._

The image was lovely, but something was missing. The boy had gone, and for some strange reason, this saddened the dreamer.

_Where is he?_

_Here._

Someone took his hand; though unseen, he felt it. But it was not the boy whose fingers gently held his own. It was his companion guide.

_Let me see you._

Before him, Javert could see his arm outstretched, and his hand extended empty but hopeful. Very quickly, the call was answered, and in front of his eyes appeared the spirit in solid form. She was dressed like a gypsy, and returned his smile warmly.

_Is this what you really are?_

_It is for now. But I can be something else more suitable if you would prefer._

Unexpectedly, he tightened his grip. Without a word or thought, he assured her that he was pleased with the present illusion. She began leading him through the grass, without speaking. There was no need for words now- it was just a dream, after all. It was safe to smile, as a breeze fragrant with wildflowers caressed his face. It was even safe to laugh, and it was a bit surprising to him, when he did.

_What am I doing? _

_What do you feel? _

_Happy. I feel happy. And warm- and safe._

_Well, that's good, isn't it?_

_But it isn't real. It's a dream- an illusion._

_Oh, is it, now? _

He cleared his throat, stopped laughing and regained some dignity, though he did not release her hand.

"Yes, of course it is. You aren't real. And this place…." He was talking now, actually speaking the words and not just thinking. Yet he was loathe to say anything unpleasant about his surroundings, for fear they would suddenly disappear if he failed to believe.

"You are a puzzle, Inspector."

"Am I? Inspector, I mean." The title seemed somehow unwarranted in such a setting; he wouldn't argue about being a puzzle.

"Inspector, monsieur, the prisoner, your Excellency-" She giggled at the last. "What do you want to be called?"

He stopped abruptly, pulling her off balance for a moment with this sudden cease in progress. He found his smile again.

"Henri." he obliged. "Just Henri."


	15. Chapter 15

Prince of Liars 15

Valjean busied himself for a short while, finally deciding to fill a few pages in the small journal he had recently failed to keep with reliability. He glanced at the few lines copied from dictation, set the page aside and thumbed through the diary planning to record his own observations. It had been some time since he had anything of passing consequence about which to write and had not spared a moment for such pursuits since the trial. If there was anything of interest to write at all, these last several days most definitely met criteria.

It was an unnatural coincidence, albeit a welcomed one, that Inspector Javert had so suddenly ended up in his care- or that their paths had crossed at all in a time when the person in question seemed to need any defense or support. With a sigh, Valjean realized such a peculiar truce could never have been accomplished otherwise. If Javert had not been delivered to this lowly condition, the present situation would never have been a consideration.

Ready to begin, Jean dipped his pen into the inkpot and briefly glanced at his former jailor, reclining in bed. He paused abruptly to scrutinize the man; what was he hearing? And seeing? Javert, smiling? A contented sigh escaped the patient, and Jean's pen halted in its purpose. Should he intervene?

Curious, the former convict set his book aside and rose noiselessly from the desk. He had promised to be at hand should the need arise, in the event of distress or the reappearance of unknown 'phantoms'. He approached the bed cautiously, more intrigued than concerned.

Whatever images were visiting the sleeping patient, whether in realms of dreams or madness, they did not apparently inspire fear. It was a bit odd to see that normally stern and serious countenance so softened and inclined to any expression akin to joy. His lips moved gently in silent whispers, let pass a gentle laugh and for more than a moment, curled in a smile of such genuine, innocent pleasure that Valjean was amazed. It was most assuredly the results of that medicine, he quietly reasoned. It had promised the possibility of uncharacteristic behavior.

Fascinated, he continued in silent observation, convincing himself it was no impropriety to do so. A rationalization, to be sure, to mask his own pleasant interest; he had to be certain the Inspector was not in discomfort or distress, didn't he? It would not be fair to wake the man otherwise, especially as his reactions seemed nothing short of extreme pleasure.

Javert curled his arms under the pillow, snugging it close to his head as would a precocious or ticklish child. He pressed back into it, smiling and almost cooing with private delight. There was clearly no need to disturb whatever dream he enjoyed, and Valjean relented easily to letting the man sleep. Secretly, he envied Javert at that moment, for the ability to surrender to such abandon- induced though it may have been. It was tempting to consider stealing a dram for himself if this was the result.

Jean suddenly felt that he had been intruding, seeing more than politely allowed under the circumstances. Whatever the happy cause, these were private moments and to stand in uninvited study was in fact betraying a certain unspoken confidence. Before he could withdraw, and even before realizing it, Valjean's hand began to stray forward to smooth loose tendrils of hair from Javert's face.

Fingers stroked unintended across the skin of a cheek. The patient responded to this feather-light touch by leaning into the palm of his benefactor. Valjean tensed but did not pull away. Gently as a father might, he brushed aside the errant locks, and paused a moment more to caress that sleeping face with tentative fingers. This ended at last, as he was anxious not to disturb the dreamer, or worse yet, wake him to discover the trespass.

Valjean stepped back, almost ashamed for this strange tenderness and the liberty he had taken while Javert was unaware. Such a moment was highly unlikely to present itself again and even now Jean could not explain the impulse, nor the satisfaction derived from it.

Javert settled peacefully against the embrace of the pillow, a slight and shy smile remaining as if to keep nightmares at bay. Muted voices in the hall below drew Valjean's attention and somewhat reluctantly he left the bedside and thereafter the room to attend to appointments elsewhere.

_Henri._

The name in her voice was quite pleasing to him. It was something almost rapturous, if Javert could bring himself to admit to such sensations. It was lyrical and even familiar in a way which conjured the simplest comforts. It brought sublime peace unknown since childhood, though he doubted it had been experienced even then.

"I _have_ known you."

He spoke again, still more confident in speaking than merely thinking. It was the more logical and therefore most intelligent thing to do, in his estimation. It clearly separated reality from fantasy. Just as certainly he knew his assumption to be true; he had known her- or at least known _of_ her- somewhere.

"You have known and forgotten many things in all your years."

She obliged his need to keep a rational view of what might easily be misjudged as wholly irrational, by responding in speech as well.

"Then tell me. Who are you?"

"I am the other side of your life. Excused away, neglected. Even forgotten."

"No."

This last sudden sharp tone was the only sour note in an otherwise sweet tableaux. He did not like the way he sounded, but would not to take the responsibility of possibly having lost something of value. Or perhaps it was the concept that anything founded on emotion rather than fact was immaterial. _Javert, you are a fool!_

"Oh, I don't think so." His guide continued to speak aloud. "Will you at least accept that things neglected or ignored may not be lost forever?"

"You mistake me for another man."

He was the Inspector now, coolly turning a shoulder to the notion that anything involving the frailty of human happiness could be lasting. They continued to walk, hand in hand, though a cloud now blocked the sun and brought a chill to the air. There was a real danger that Javert himself might cause a storm to destroy the moment's bliss.

She stopped walking and Javert felt himself being pulled downward, to the lush meadow grass. The scent of it warmed away his argument and the sun appeared once more.

"Do you really think you could ever be mistaken for another man?"

She was teasing him now, and the absurdity of it encouraged him to laugh. He did not need to know her name, or who she was or might have been. Those were things required when fulfilling duties to the law, the sort of information derived from interrogation. He was Henri here, and nowhere else. Perhaps that was enough.

The dictates of his normally ordered and severe existence seemed to slip away. The uniform, gone, and a weight he had not before recognized lifted from surprisingly youthful shoulders. Suddenly nothing mattered but the warm caress of sunlight, the scent of fresh air, flowers and earth, and the obliging and welcoming softness of the body lying beside his own. _Is this what is meant by a heaven?_

His head nestled against her breast, and he could hear the gentle rhythm of a heart. It beat in time with his own and began to lull him into a calming rest unlike any known before.

Time could not exist in a place that could not exist. Still, when a breeze began to rustle the leaves, Javert opened his eyes.

It was night and he lay alone, the formerly peaceful countryside having developed an ominous and desolate air. The woman, his mysterious guide, stood several paces off, with a strange radiance to her figure against the dark sky.

_Be still, Henri. Close your eyes and keep safe the memory._

He pushed himself up slightly on stiffened arms and refused to look away. He remembered now, and though she smiled softly at him, he thought he saw an oddly luminous tear as it ran down her cheek.


	16. Chapter 16

Prince of Liars 16

"Ah! Monsieur Valjean!"

Hardly had Jean descended the stairs than he was greeted by the cheerful voice of M. Viertel. The fellow, with the rotund little M. Aumont in tow had just been admitted into the hall. Their host smiled and extended them each a pleasant handshake in greeting.

"Welcome, gentlemen. Your arrival is nothing if not well timed." Valjean assured. "I have been quite distracted of late with certain matters that arose unexpectedly."

"I hope we do not interfere." Aumont spoke with genuine concern.

"Not at all. Please, let us go to my office."

Jean gestured toward the familiar path they had traveled more than once before. His visitors nodded in polite agreement, and soon the trio was comfortably seated around a tidy desk.

After a few niceties were exchanged, regarding one another's health and the state of the weather, M. Aumont presented a thin sheaf of papers. Valjean had approached the partners some weeks before, concerning the purchase of some property intended for business. The matter now seemed a welcomed diversion and it would be the center off all attention for at least awhile.

Leaning up on his arms, Javert felt the breeze cut coldly over him. He frowned deeply, unwilling to end this dreamy reverie.

"No!" he barked at his guide, as if truly angry with her. "You gave your word! You said the other one could not come while you were with me!"

He argued like a child, remembering her earlier promise. With the change in the air, and the dark and unsettling landscape, he believed the dreaded 'devil' of illusions was about to return. The only reply was a feeble shake of her head, before she looked away.

Beyond her, there seemed to be a road cutting across the bleak field. Now a coach and four approached, its black and snorting team struggling against the driver's demands. Their eyes flashed red as flame, as the conveyance shuddered and jangling its way closer.

_Keep still, Henri Emil Javert. _Her thought was no more than a breathless whisper. _Remain hidden, watch and learn. And survive._

He struggled against this caution, attempted to rise but was unable to move. It felt as though some great hand was on his back, pressing him down. All he wanted was to rush to her and protect against whatever evil he felt certain was about to appear. Javert's arms slid from under him and he lay prone and helpless, as the coach thundered to a halt. But it was no coach; it was a hearse.

_No! No- you promised!_

These were indeed the protests of a child. Javert's fingers clutched the earth, tearing at the grass that had so recently been his comfort. In the moonless dark, all green had turned blood black.

The horses neighed and pawed the ground, impatient and perhaps terrified of their mission. Hardly had they come to a halt when four tall men vaulted from within. Javert watched in horror, recognizing their tall hats and long coats as familiar silhouettes. These were officials of some black and hideous justice, twisted and deformed in this barren and hollow place.

They set upon the woman who had been his guide, and seemed to swallow her up in their darkness. She was lifted without a struggle, and carried to the hearse. There she disappeared inside, with three of her assailants.

The fourth paused, alert that there might be a watcher unseen in the night. It looked with deliberation in Javert's direction, eyes as red as the beasts' that still strained at the reins. It stared but mercifully could not see.

Javert felt the air go out of his lungs. The last of the four finally vaulted into the confines of the hearse and at once the driver whipped his animals forward. The vehicle lurched forward, and sped off into the darkness, leaving nothing the fading sound of galloping horses in its wake.

"Mamere!"

The unseen hand that had held him fixed against his will was suddenly gone, and the boy Javert leapt to his feet. Eyes clouded with tears, he ran to the road, shouting into the bitter wind.

The business venture, calmly discussed and nearly concluded in the office below, was abruptly interrupted by a tormented scream. Both Monsieurs Aumont and Viertel started violently at the sound. Valjean, too, was shaken, but spent his next immediate response in reassuring his visitors there was nothing about which to be alarmed.

"Good Lord!" Aumont gasped in near panic.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, do not be alarmed." A quick turn of his head confirmed that the Sisters were already dashing for the stairs. He was free to refocus his attention on calming his flustered guests. "I apologize for the disturbance, but we are caring for a friend. He is very ill."

"Well, there's not a thing wrong with his lungs!" Viertel observed, tugging his vest. He smoothed his hair and managed a smile. "M. Valjean, your kindness knows no bounds." There was another heartrending scream from above and then muffled sounds of anxious nurses and stifled sobs.

"I do what I can. What any man would do."

His visitors nodded and tried to ignore the interruption, which apparently had subsided. They knew in their hearts few men would go to the limits M. Valjean frequently did, often for complete strangers. His generosity and selfless charity was practically legend, and both men, while badly shocked by the initial noises, settled down to business once again.

Valjean was relieved that they did not ask for further information about the 'unfortunate' and he wondered what they would say if they knew the whole truth.

There was the rapid pat of lady's steps descending the stairs and before long one of the Sisters was tapping anxiously on the door frame. Aumont smiled at the plump young lady, who did not notice the innocent flirtation. By her expression it was evident she was most concerned and when Valjean turned to address her, she could hardly wait to speak.

"Sister, what is happening with _our patient?"_

Despite her state, she understood by his tone she was not to divulge a name.

"Oh, monsieur! He is most distraught!"

"So we heard." Viertel muttered with a smirk.

"He's raving-" She continued, as if the master of the house could solve it was a wink.

"The result of his new medication." Jean sighed with regret. "Very well, I will be up directly, Sister. As soon as I am done here."

The young lady, still wringing her hands, nodded once, curtsied and disappeared from view. Jean hung his head in thought, wanting most to rush up the stairs and find out what had caused this terrible outburst. He should be there, with Javert, but could not simply excuse himself in the middle of business.

"Well, M. Valjean, I do think that is everything we need." Viertel was already pushing back his chair, ready to rise. His partner seemed suddenly disheartened, secretly hoping for a friendly glass of Port to seal the deal. A nudge from Viertel encouraged a more appropriately charitable spirit, and the pair made ready to take their leave.

"Thank you for understanding, gentlemen." Valjean almost blushed that his concern was so evident. "I apologize, but-"

"Think nothing of it." Aumont patted his host's ample chest as they passed through to the hall. He had nothing but the greatest respect and admiration for the noble heart beating in that bosom. "You are needed elsewhere, and we cannot keep you from your charge."

The pair did not seem concerned that their meeting had been so brief, and were rather as considerate in departing as they would be, had Valjean been on his honeymoon. They shook hands and left, confident that every wonderful thing ever rumored about their esteemed host was in fact true.

No sooner had the door latch caught than Jean turned on his heels and vaulted up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time.


End file.
